The Sword and the Rose
by Baramos
Summary: -FFVI- Novelization of the game's events. Originally entitled "The Rose-Entwined Sword".
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Long ago...what is now called the War of the Magi reduced the world to a scorched wasteland, and Magic simply ceased to exist.

A thousand years have passed... Iron, gunpowder and steam engines have been rediscovered, and high technology reigns. But there are those who would enslave the world by reviving the dread destructive power known as "Magic".

Can it be that those in power are on the verge of repeating a senseless and deadly mistake?

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The cold wind surged through the valley below, its keening wail grating on the ears, its icy edge piercing to the bone, the lights of Narshe twinkling like cold stars, and whipped up the icy cliff face and over the jutting overhang the three hulking figures occupied. The clouds were streaked away by the wind's might, the light of the moon falling on the huge figures, destroying their humanity, revealing vaguely man-shaped machines of cold steel and hot steam, bi-pedal monstrosities built in man's image, the machines that attempted to shape the world in man's image. Within the seat of a machine stirred a true man, in full Imperial uniform of dark brown leather and painted chest carapace, the rounded helmet like a bell with the face cut out of it. The uniform marked him as medium rank as far as normal soldiers went, though now he and his partner had the right to the red uniforms of Cavalry, another move up the ladder of rank now that they had been chosen for this mission.

Biggs shivered. The thick leather seemed like thin silk in these environs. It never got this cold in the Capital, never close to this cold. The uniform he had complained made him too hot when he had first joined the Imperial Army in Vector now seemed like nowhere near enough protection. He wriggled lower in the Magitek Armor's seat, attempting to use the lip around the mech's cockpit as a wall against the frigid gusts, but it still seeped into his skin. He looked over at the Armor that had come to rest on his left where they could observe the mining town below. He firmly refused to look to his right. The only thing he could see was Wedge's outline and a bright point of light at the helmet's face opening, the end of Wedge's cigarrette as he puffed on it. It probably makes him feel warmer, thought Biggs ruefully, but he had never taken up smoking himself. He turned back to the view below them in the valley. "There's the town..." he said, somewhat loudly to carry over the wail of the wind.

Wedge's figure shifted slightly as he replied to Biggs. "Hard to believe an Esper's been found intact there, a thousand years after the War of the Magi..."

"Think it's still alive?"

"Probably...judging from the urgency of our orders."

"And this woman," said Biggs, forcing himself to look to his right at the other Armor, at the cockpit who's driver was strangely silent, "this...sorceress. Why is she here?" He shivered, and this time not from the cold. "I heard she fried fifty of our Magitek Armored soldiers in under three minutes!" His eyes went back to Wedge's silheouette, his mouth suddenly dry.

"Not to worry. The Slave Crown on her head robs her of all conscious thought. She'll follow orders," replied Wedge.

Biggs shook his head. She's so quiet, so hopefully it's working, but if something happens to it and it stops functioning...Biggs shivered again, thoughts of searing flame in his mind's eye, burning him to a cinder in seconds. Even the Magitek Armor's Fire Beam seemed more natural, as strange at that seemed. At least the fire seemed to come from somewhere, blazing out of the Armor's cannons from its Magitek-infused energy cells, not coalescing out of thin air as it did with Magitek Knights. Even having seen General Leo do it countless times in combat, and even once the Emperor himself, its suddenness still unnerved him...and this woman was supposedly no patient of Professor Cid's treatments that allowed humans to use the power. That made it even worse.

"We'll approach from the east," said Wedge. "Move out!" Biggs manipulated the Armor's levers, operating the giant legs, turning the machine and lumbering after Wedge, smoke rolling from the twin pipes behind his head that poked up over the Armor's "shoulders", the machine's pincered arms moving back and forth in a grotesque human pantomime as the numerous gears propelled him forward into the dark night, across the snowy plains. He kept his eyes forward, stuanchly ignoring the silent woman driving her mech beside his, following Wedge as obediently as a child. Biggs had a sudden feeling of doom, an apprehension making the hair on his neck and arms stand up and his nerves sing. That woman would be the death of them in the end, he felt sure, and the power she wielded would be the death of many more. We will regret chaining her, he thought. Many will regret it.

The guards, dressed in fur-lined clothes and hats of white to blend in with the snowy landscape of their mountain home, fur ponchos around their shoulders, their faces shielded from the wind by woolen cloth wrapped around their heads that covered their noses and mouths, stirred at their post, seated on wooden crates, a single lantern flickering despondently near them at Narshe's single entrance, an arch in the wall that could be closed with the mere flick of a switch to drop an iron porticullis. A sound had risen over the wind's wailing, a roar and the hum of an engine, and screeching of metal joints, approaching the town. The designated leader arose quickly, gripping his buckler and drawing his sword with his other hand, signaling to two of his subordinates to do the same and another to run to the lever that would set the chain unwinding to drop the porticullis that would defend most of the valley town. The school was outside of the wall, at the mouth of the valley, but it was certainly unoccupied at this hour, even by the most studious and late-working of teachers. He peered through the gateway into the night. He could see the school's eastern wall to the right, and a few steaming gears to the left, a coal-run steam engine still puffing away at this hour to keep some of the town's water pipes from freezing up with the heat it produced.

The sound still approached, getting louder, and the guard muttered, still peering into the night. The moon had gone back behind the clouds, making it dark as pitch except for a few yards, enhanced somewhat by the white snow but still blinding. He shook his head. He wouldn't even have had to guard Narshe a few years ago, when the Empire was just a distant rumor, the southern continent's problem, certainly not theirs. So far away it had seemed, and now the Empire was in their backyard, breathing down their necks from Figaro, who had made itself a vassal to Gestahl and his cronies early enough to avoid any harsh treatment. King Edgar had even maintained most of his power, only paying tribute to Gestahl and allowing free passage through his domain, and occupation wasn't foreseen in the future. Narshe was a mining town, full of miners, not warriors, without anywhere near the weaponry that Figaro had to dissuade the Empire from open warfare, a gift of Edgar's mechanical prowess, and yet Narshe had at least managed to hold itself firmly neutral in the war because of the coal trade, and the protectiveness of its position in the mountain valley.

But now they had caught the Emperor's eye, he was sure, since they had found that...thing...in the new mine shaft. He knew the Elder and the Council had been foolish to mention it at the last thinly veiled threat the Empire had sent with its diplomat, thinking to use it as a bargaining chip against the Empire, even as a threat against them, as if Narshe had the tools to drain energy from the beast and infuse it into soldiers. The guard shook his head again. Just refusing to hand it over to the Empire, to deny them more power, was an affront to Gestahl. He wished he had never heard of the word "Esper" or "Magic", even in the fairy tales he had heard as a child. No, not fairy tales, it would seem. The past had come back to haunt the present.

The sound was close now, it was just beyond his vision. He held his hand up, and the man at the porticullis' lever tensed. He was sure this was his worst fear had come to realization. The roar was right in front of them, now, and fast approaching. A voice suddenly broke through the night, shouting over the wind, a commanding tone, "Let's put her on point. No sense in taking any risks. Forward!"

The night suddenly brightened, moonlight breaking through the clouds again, to illuminate the massive and shining forms of Magitek Armor bearing down on them, heading for the arch, the lead one occupied by a beautiful young woman, no more than twenty, if that, her eyes glossed over, somehow unseeing even while she was clearly guiding her machine expertly, set in a face that lacked any visible emotion, a burnished chest-plate of armor modified for a woman over clothing dyed a dark purple, a strange circlet of dark metal around her head, and two other mechs side by side behind her, occupied by Imperial dogs in uniform. The guard blinked, his hand still raised in the air. Was her hair...green?

He pushed such impossible thoughts aside, and lowered his hand in a quick cutting gesture. The man at the lever pulled, and the porticullis slammed down, between them and the advancing Armor. It won't stop them for long, thought the guard, sadly. His thoughts wandered over his family, of the wife who would be a widow, his two daughters who would be childless after this night. Narshe didn't stand a chance against three Magitek Armors.

"Imperial Magitek armor! Not even Narshe's safe anymore!" said one of the other men, he and one of his fellows swifly nocking arrow to bow. They raised and pulled, but the harsh wind made their well-aimed shots count for naught. One thunked into the seat back of the soldier in the right mech, the other clanged off of the front of the other soldier's machine. Neither had shot at the woman. Who would, thought the lead guard, though as the cannon inlayed into the woman's Magitek Armor's chest manuevered into position to fire and a glow appeared, deep down the barrel like a train coming out of a tunnel, he knew they were fools for not killing her. But still he knew he would have done the same. The stream of explosive heat and flame exploded from the cannon, slamming into the gate and surging between the bars, turning it white hot as the steel behemoth crashed through it, hopelessly shattering it. The guard and his fellows died, burnt and torn asunder by the blast.

Alarms rang through the town, electric lights turned on in several houses, lanterns were lit, guards ran through the streets. Wedge looked down at the simple map he had been given, drawn with ink and added to by the various diplomats who had been sent to the town. The valley was decently straight, slanting northeast, curving more east as it went deeper into the mountains before opening up into a wider area nestled in their depths, though that was where the map ended as the town ended at the mines and the mines ended at the snow field. The new mine shaft was directly ahead along this main street, and it had been more than sufficiently widened for their Magitek Armor to get inside, owing to the Esper they had found there, encased in ice.

Some more guards stood in their way ahead, arrayed across the street to block their path, wolf-dogs at leash, some training arrows on them. "Narshe's freedom depends on us!" shouted their leader.

Wedge manipulated his mech's cannon, and charged it as their arrows loosed. One clanged off of his armor, another off of his helmet, and then he pulled his cannon's trigger. He had initiated a "Bolt Beam", as the Imperial soldiers called it, and a sharp bolt of lightning surged from the cannon into the guard's ranks, the electricity jumping from one to another as they writhed. They fell to the ground, smoking, dogs as well, completely still. Wedge smiled. You couldn't beat Imperial technology.

They were almost to the tunnel entrance; it was just ahead, bored into the mountain side. Numerous other entrances and exits dotted the cliff wall, but he knew that was the one they were after. They passed into a narrower passage, a wooden bridge overhead crossing from bank to bank barely clearing the top of his Armor's pipestacks. Suddenly guards rappelled down the cliff face on either side behind them, and more jumped out from where they had been leaning against the walls. Two of the guards in front of them held chains in their hands that they yanked on, and the snow drifts ahead surged upwards revealing hulking behemoths who had been sleeping comfortably before their masters had yanked their leashes to rouse them. Wedge stopped moving forward, startled. He had heard of these strange elephants, like the one's that occupied the Veldt to the east across the sea on another continent, but these were covered in thick, wooly hair. He quickly composed himself, however, and initiated another blast as the guards had the mammoths charge at them, and the hulking beasts were lost in a sea of flame, along with their handlers. He glanced to his side, but Biggs had already managed to turn himself about, and had initiated his cannon as well, though to shoot an icy blast of energy at the guards behind them rather than fire. They died just as well, however, merely frozen in eternal effigy instead of incinerated. Wedge continued forward, pushing past the blackened carcasses of the giant beasts and entered the mines, the woman beside him and Biggs covering their rear. "According to our source, the frozen Esper was found in a new mine shaft...Maybe this one..."

The mine shaft was so large they didn't have much trouble manuevering their Magitek Armor at all, and the shouts of pursuit from town were quite distant. They came to a widened area, and Wedge expected to find their prize, only to find a closed gate blocking their way.

"I'll handle this. Stand back!" said Biggs, and he deftly manuevered his Armor so it was facing away from the gate, and then shifted into reverse and accelerated quickly, crashing into the gate and knocking it down with a loud wrenching sound. The tunnel echoed, and soot fell from the ceiling, but there was no cave-in, much to Wedge's relief. Narshe miners knew how to dig, he'd give them that much.

Two guards ran from the passage, spreading out to either side of the ruined gate. "We won't hand over the Esper!" cried one, and the other yelled back into the tunnel, "Whelk! Get them!" The woman fired on them, and they died, screaming, in flames. Wedge was about to give the order for them to continue when a strange sound came from the entrance to the Esper's cavern, a slimy rustling, as a monstrous shape slid into the room. Wedge was taken aback at the sight of a giant snail, ooze dripping from its slippery brown body, a beautiful giant shell upon it's back, which shined with a strangely iridescent shimmer, like wet tile. Wedge couldn't believe the people of Narshe had actually trained such bestial monsters to do their bidding, but now it made sense that they could mine without fear of these beasts that had occupied the caves when Narshe was first built, having made them into pets and companions. Its eyestalks fell upon them, and it made a mewling roar, and closed on Wedge's Armor, slamming into him. The thing had such force the mech actually rocked. Biggs turned his mech and fired at it, and it quickly slid its head back into its strange shell.

The lightning Biggs had fired struck the shell and rebounded and reflected in a billion directions, slamming into the walls and ceilings and knocking rocks down all around them. Wedge was about to fire at it himself, but Biggs yelled out, "Hold it! Think back to our briefing!"

"What about it!" shouted back Wedge, as the thing's head popped back out and it came at him again.

"Do you recall hearing about a monster that eats lightning..."

"...and stores it in its shell!" cried Wedge, quickly slamming the lever controls and dodging the giant snail. It oozed past him, but turned to attack him again.

"Right! So whatever you do, don't attack its shell!" yelled Biggs.

"Alright already!" replied Wedge loudly. As the snail surged at him, he pressed forward on the levers to charge at it and then manipulated other controls with his feet, raising the pincered arms and grabbing the thing with them as they crashed into each other, one pincer firmly around it's slimy body and another jabbed deep into its flash. It's blood oozed over the arm as it snarled in his face, it's saliva covering Wedge. "Now, Biggs!" he yelled, and Biggs fired a bolt at it, and it hit its body dead center as it stretched in a vain attempt to go inside its shell. It was ripped in half as it sizzled, the sheer force of the lightning tearing it, and its body fell to the floor, ooze everywhere, the beautiful shell falling over a bit on its side from its upright position. Wedge quickly threw down what he was holding in his Armor's hands, the now lifeless eyes on their stalks disturbing him even more than when they had been alive. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then signaled to Biggs and the woman to follow him. "Time to get what we came for and get out of this town," he said, and Biggs smiled back. He's a good soldier, Wedge thought. I'll have to have him commended when we get back.

He moved into narrow passage, and then it opened out into a large cavern, stalactites and stalagmites all around, and ahead, elevated slightly on carved rock to focus attention upon it, was the Esper. They came to a stop before it.

Wedge's eyes widened, and Biggs gasped. The creature was encased in ice, and it was both majestic and frightfully disturbing at once. It seemed to be a bird, though a feathered serpent was perhaps more apt, fabulously colored plumage of green and red and yellow, like the parrots he had seen in Vector's pet shops, its body long and graceful and curled beneath it in the ice, a snake's body, though with four taloned legs, like the dragons in the stories, and it was much larger than a man, about the size of their Magitek Armor. The lanterns in the mines glinted on the ice, and the eyes of the beast...they weren't an animal's eyes. They had an intelligience in them, though they were clouded over, the beast sleeping, entombed in crystalline splendor.

Beside him the woman said nothing, but he noticed, looking at her, that some sort of light had come back into her eyes, some consciousness. She moved her Armor closer to the Esper, peering forward intently at it. "Hey! What's the matter? Do you know something we don't?"

The girl remained silent at his questioning, only staring at the Esper intently. Suddenly Wedge noticed a sort of glow growing in the ice around the Esper, a glow that didn't come from the lanterns. It grew brighter and brighter, pulsing in an intermittant pattern. He was awestruck by it. He didn't know what to do. It was almost hypnotic. A glow seemed to appear around the woman, now, pulsing in the same manner, pulsing in the same rhythm. He began to feel afraid, suddenly.

"Hey, where's that light coming from!" said Wedge, his voice wavering. Suddenly Wedge felt a huge pain in his chest, it coursed up and down his arms, it felt like he was coming apart, like someone was trying to draw and quarter him. He screamed, long and loud. He could hear every bolt and nut in the Magitek Armor coming apart, straining, he could hear the engine revving uncontrollably. The Magitek-infused power cells were humming, and suddenly glowed, pulsing in time with the Esper and the woman. He screamed again, and then there was a bright flash, and then only darkness.

To Biggs, who was staring at this ghastly scene with mounting terror, there was a huge flash that dazzled his eyes, and when he could see again, Wedge and the entire Magitek Armor he had been riding in had seemed to just simply disappear, every bit of them. "Hey! Wedge! Where are you! Wha--What's happening!" Suddenly Biggs felt like he was on fire. His joints felt like they were rending, his bones cracking. His Armor shook and hummed, the Magitek-infused energy cells glowed, pulsed in time with the beat of the Esper and Woman. I knew this would be the end, I knew it, he thought, as he screamed aloud. Then there was a bright flash, and then only darkness.

The woman was unaware of these events, unaware of the bright flash and dissappearance of the soldiers and the Magitek Armor. Her entire focus was on the creature. She felt as if...she knew the creature, as if it and her were the same, as if they were brethren. She was aware of the pulsing glow, and she felt it, in time with her heartbeat. She knew it was in time with the creature's hearbeat, as well. She slowly disengaged the harness that held her in the Magitek Armor, and clambered out of the seat, holding onto the narrow rungs welded to the side of the machine's "chest", jumped down, approached the creature, unaware of the Armor behind her's sudden humming, the energy cells glowing and pulsing, the sudden blinding flash as it disappeared. Her entire focus was on the creature. She reached out towards it, touched the ice with her fingers, felt her green hair slowly rising from her shoulders, felt energy flowing through her from the creature, like a shock, and then everything was spinning. She stumbled a few steps away from the creature, aware that the glow was dying, and then she fell to the cavern floor, her eyes closing as she sunk into unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Suddenly, the woman felt herself aware again, of light falling on her closed eyes, as the world faded from black to dark red.

Her mind felt like it was in low gear, but she had the sudden memory of painful screams, cold biting wind, a glowing pulse that felt...comforting. Like a mother's arms. A mother? She shook her head, eyes still closed, and moaned. She shifted, suddenly realizing she was in a soft bed, a blanket over her, and heard rapid footsteps on stone, coming to her side, someone looming over her.

She opened her eyes to take in the sight of an old bearded man, in a cloth shirt but thick fur pants and boots still rimed with snow like he had just come in from the outdoors, his face creased with worry as he bent over her. Her eyes took in the room, a small lamp giving most of the light, though some very slight gray light was coming in at the window next to a door across from open way she presumed led into the rest of the house. The room was furnished comfortably, a writing desk with several papers on it next to a lump of wax and a silver signet ring, a comfortable arm chair, a bookcase filled with several large volumes. A sharp pain in her head brought her hand to her brow, but it passed, replaced by the dull throbbing she had been feeling ever since coming back to consciousness. A piece of armor for a woman, a chest-plate, sat on the chair, and she knew it was hers, but she couldn't seem to place when she had worn it. She still wore her clothes, dyed a dark purple, women's blouse and slacks and comfortable shoes with low heels. At least she felt they were her clothes.

"Where am I...?" she asked groggily, looking at the man, who's face had become smiling when he saw she had regained consciousness. Though she knew nothing of this man, just having met him at this moment, she felt sure he was kindly, and could be trusted.

"Whoa! And I only just removed your crown. You're in my home, young lady. I and some of the other villagers found you in the mines, near that Esper they dug up. Alarm bells ringing put everyone in the streets, even me, and trouble at the mines had me worried. We only found you, however, not the two the guards said accompanied you. And there were no traces of the Magitek Armor you rode in on." He handed her a mug of hot steaming liquid, and she drank it in huge gulps, never minding the pain her tongue and throat felt.

Another flash of pain ripped through her head, and she jumped, half leaving the bed, the blankets wrapped around her legs. She stumbled and fell to her knees, the old man quickly grabbing her and lowering her as she tottered. "...head...hurts..." she managed weakly, rubbing her temple with her hand, thinking of how much she wished the pain were gone. Suddenly she felt an energy moving through her body at this thought, and felt a cooling feeling moving through her arm into her head. The pain lessened incredibly, and she stared at her hand in awe, then looked at the old man. "It's...almost gone..."

He nodded his head, as if something had been confirmed for him, and then said, "Take it easy. I only just removed this," he said, grabbing a metal circlet of some dark metal from where it hung on the desk's chair's back, holding it up before her eyes. She could somehow...feel an aura around it, one she didn't care for. But in many ways it felt like the power that had flowed through her, that had healed her aching head. "This is an Imperial Slave Crown," continued the old man, "The others had complete control over you while you wore it."

Vague memories floated to her, but vanished like mist when she tried to examine them. "I can't remember a thing, just...flashes..."

"Don't worry. It'll all come back to you...in time, that is," said the old man, in a comforting tone. The woman stood up, weakly pulling herself up with the desk, and the old man tsked at her. "Perhaps you should rest some more..." he said, but made no attempt to push her into bed. The woman weakly leaned on the desk, examining the ring that lay there. She couldn't see the insignia from where she had laid on the bed, but now it was quite plain, the brilliant red ruby inset in silver inscribed with a slightly curving sword entwined in roses. Quite the thing for this man to own, but his house looked quite well taken care of, so perhaps he had the means. She wondered why he had chosen this signet for himself, what meaning it had.

The man spoke again, softly, "You had been seen in Vector on a few occasions, though our sources there couldn't tell us much except for the rumors of your abilities, and your strange appearance. I mean to say--" he said, hurriedly, as she looked at him, "that no one else has hair like yours, that shade. You're actually quite beautiful...I mean...I..." He seemed suddenly flustered. "A mysterious young woman, controlled by the Empire, and born with the gift of magic...there have been quite a few umors about you, understandably."

She touched her long hair, falling in lustrous locks, slightly curled. It felt normal to her touch, what she felt was normal, but it was green, like summer grass, what she felt was the shade of summer grass. The thought of grass brought a sudden recollection to her mind. "My name is...Terra. Terra Branford," she said.

"Impressive! I've never heard of anyone recovering so fast!" He smiled wider as she straightened, feeling enough strength to stand straight, even though she still leaned back against the desktop. "You are quite a surprise, even with all the rumors about you, I never expected this--" He cut off at a sudden loud knocking from another room, someone banging on his front door, and proclaming loudly.

"Open up! Give us the girl and the Empire's Magitek Armor! We know you have it, somewhere, you and your friends, always meddling in Council affairs!" screamed an angry voice.

"Open this door! We want that girl! She's an officer of the Empire!" yelled a second voice, and then more quietly, "Alright, batter it down. Arvis has meddled with this business enough! I want that girl!"

The young woman whispered softly, "Empire? Magitek Armor?" The words had some meaning to her, but they were vague images, mostly things she didn't care for, painful images of death and destruction. The old man started pushing her hurriedly through the room to the door across from the hallway.

"Look, I have to get you out of here. I don't have any more time to explain to you. You're in great danger here from the townspeople. From what I've found you're innocent of any wrong doing, but they won't accept it. They want a scape-goat for the lives lost this night. Go through this back door," he said, pulling it open, revealing a rocky cliff wall a few feet away, snow covered ground, and a narrow alley proceeding to the left along the house wall, "and make your way through the mines. It shouldn't be too difficult for you to give them the dodge. Here, take this," he said, pushing a dagger into her hands, almost a short sword with a foot-long blade. "Monsters and wild beasts have been cleared from the mines mostly, but there are still the occasional attacks in the caves. You'll need this for protection." He fell silent, stopping and looking at her, as a continuous pounding could be heard from the front of the house, and a splintering of wood. "I'll send someone to help you post-haste, a young man I know. Now go. I'll keep these brutes occupied." He smiled at her one last time, then shut the door.

Terra trotted along the alley, feet crunching in snow, the dagger thrust through her leather belt with its traveler's pouch in back for carrying odds and ends, coming to a cliff's lip at the end, with a rope bridge crossing to the other side. Down below her was a passage to a large mine entrance in the mountain, much of the snow melted and rock blackened, several people working to clear way debris and huge carcasses of some strange animal, and several sheets covered what looked to be human bodies. The scene was illuminated by early morning light, grim and dank, and the town south of her was bustling with activity. A man dressed in furs glanced up, a soldier or guard of some sort from the sword he wore and the way he held himself, looking around and keeping an eye out, and then did a double-take, staring at her crossing the bridge. He shouted up towards Arvis' house from his position. "She's up there!" he cried, pointing at her, and she could see soldiers run around the side of Arvis' house to stare at her in shock, and then run to pursue her. She broke into a run, reaching the other side of the bridge, a dark tunnel entrance in the cliff face before her. She ducked inside and kept running, dim lamps giving some illumination. She slowed down, picking her way along more carefully, but she kept up a quick pace. It wouldn't help her if she escaped from the guards and broke her neck in a fall. The tunnel wall to her right gave way to a deep ravine she didn't know the depth of, its bottom lost in the gloom, the tunnel opening up into a larger cavern. She kept her hands on the wall to her left, and finding another passage, she entered it, the tunnel narrowing once more. She came to a wider area where the passage continued or there was another passage to her left.

She paused, listening, and heard sounds of pursuit behind her. She went on doggedly, continuing in the passage again, until she stopped again, hearing noises and shouts ahead of her. They were trying to cut her off, apparently. She turned around, deciding she would take the side passage she had seen earlier. She came back to the widened area to come face to face with a soldier holding a lantern, his white clothing helping to lighten the gloom, a naked sword in his other hand. His cowl was lowered, and his mouth twisted in a scowl. "Got her!" he shouted back down the tunnel, and he advanced towards her. She pulled out her dagger, turning to the side passage, only to meet the gaze of another guard. She back up, moving back into a corner, as another soldier came from where the passage continued on. She was trapped. She took another step backward into the corner, holding the dagger out in front of her, the men closing in on her cautiously, and suddenly felt rocks slipping under her feet. "Quick, grab her before she falls!" cried one of the men, and the one with lantern dropped his sword and reached out towards her, but the floor gave out too quickly. She slid, falling, tumbling, down into darkness, and as she felt the floor rush up to meet her her head smacked against a rock, and her mind dimmed into darkness as deep as the cavern's.

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Arvis sat, gloomily wondering what he should do. He was worried about the young woman, not only because of his concern for her power to aid their cause, but he found himself caring for her, the same feeling he had had for his daughter before she had been taken from him. She reminded him of her, despite how different she looked. She even reminded him a bit of his wife when he had first met her, full of vigour and energetic, a lovely flower he had plucked for his own. Wilted and gone, now, taken in childbirth, and his daughter gone as well, taken in war. All he had left was the cause.

He shifted in the armchair. The Council had forbade him from leaving the house, had told him little except that the girl had not been found yet. He tapped his fingers impatiently. Where was that young man? He shook his head. The woman could be dying, and he was sitting here waiting for the one to help her to show up. Impetuous fool, that man. He didn't know how or why he had joined the cause, but he had managed to come through on more than one occasion, enough for Arvis to trust him, even if he was always late. As he was now.

The back door opened, and Arvis stood up as the man he'd been waiting for strode through. He was young, as well, like the woman, though slightly older, no more than twenty-five. So many young ones working for the cause, but he supposed that was not surprising. Young people were always ready to fight for justice, before the world had grinded them down. He wore a black leather vest with a white shirt beneath and baggy black trousers, a long dagger sheathed at his belt, his slightly long hair held back by a black bandanna. It was gray, apparently a victim of early aging, a stark contrast to the youthful face underneath it. His slim body moved with grace and agility, and he paused in front of Arvis, a rakish grin on his face, his arms crossed in front of him, fingerless gloves allowing for easy movement, a bulge on the ring finger of his left hand under the glove. He studied the old man, leaning back on Arvis' writing desk, crossing booted legs.

"How goes the robbing and plundering trade, thief?" asked the old man flatly, and the man's mouth dropped open before he recovered himself. His mouth took an angry set, though his eyes still twinkled.

"I prefer the term 'Treasure Hunter', old man," he replied gruffly.

Arvis snorted. "Ha! Semantic nonsense! You've been giving me that spiel since I first met you, Locke."

"There's a huge difference!" Arvis waved his hand, and Locke Cole continued, "Anyway, were you the one who sent for me?""Yeah. There's a girl I'd like you to meet. Her name is Terra."

"What?" said Locke, and then recognition dawned on his face. "This better not have anything to do with that Magitek-riding, Imperial witch!"

Arvis nodded. "Imperial troops are pursuing her as we speak. The Council is under duress to return her or expect a full invasion. She's being hunted in the mines now by the town guards. You have to keep her from falling into their hands, Locke, by any means necessary, as much as I'd rather not say so. The resistance will be helped immensely by her power, if she can be convinced to join us." Arvis sighed. "I believe Narshe's independence rests with her, and the town joining with the Returners, but the Council will not hear of it. I can take no actions to stop them from capturing the girl, either, not in an active way. You, however, Locke, can assure that she is taken safely away from here."

At the mention of the Returners, Locke's eyes had slid to the signet ring lying on the writing desk, ruby inset in silver, inscribed with the sword entwined with roses. He rubbed his left hand, where the bulge lay under his glove.

"That girl was not responsible for her actions, Locke," said Arvis, pointing to the metal circlet on the chair-back, "We must get her to understand our dilemma! With her help, we may be able to end this war." Arvis shook his head. "If you have any doubts about helping her, Locke, think of that. You've heard it before, but when the Empire invaded Tzen, I lost the only one I cared about, my daughter, in the attacks. I felt lost, and wandered until I found my way here, this small town in the mountains, self-imposed exile and solitude. I met a man who invited me to join the Returners and fight to end the Empire's tyranny, and I felt as if I'd found meaning again. You've lost loved ones, too, Locke, I assume."

Locke nodded, still looking at the ring on the desk, rubbing his hand, eyes looking introspective, and said quietly, "All right...I think we'd better help her..."

Arvis clapped his hands together, making Locke jump and return from his reverie, leaning forward, smiling widely. "Agreed! Make your way south first, to Figaro, and talk to the king. Now go, quickly, and save her, Locke." Locke nodded, and quickly walked to the door, opening it and running out into the morning light. Arvis leaned back, still smiling. The future lay in these young ones' hands, and he had hope they would not falter. The Returners would fulfil their namesake.

--------

Locke stared at the hole in the floor he had overheard the woman had fallen through, several lanterns surrounding it to warn any stray feet. He assumed the guards wouldn't dare to try going down through it, not knowing how deep it was, but he had to try. They would be nearing the cavern that lay below this area by now, if they hadn't already made it there. The mines weren't incredibly extensive, but the natural caves that existed here prior to the mines were, so hopefully they still hadn't found her. He glanced around, but he remained alone. No monsters or guards to worry about while he worked.He quickly uncoiled the long rope he had brought, letting one end down through the hole, it's dark depth enhanced by the bright lanterns surrounding it. He quickly made the other end secure around a large outcrop of rock, and gripping the rope with both hands and between his knees, he swung out over the hole and slowly started climbing down.

--------

The figure laughed at her, cupping her chin in his hand, lifting her face to look at his. It was blurry, as if seen through a mist, and the surroundings around her were surreal, as well, but she recognized the grim metal and brick of Vector, the heart of the Empire, throne of Gestahl. She was immobilized in a chair, and her mind felt slow, but still she felt the seething anger and hatred in her mind she felt for this man. Things seemed to clear, though they still remained surreal, like a reflection in a pool, and she could recognize his face, mouth twisted in a maniacal grin, long blonde hair swept back from his face, a red feather thrust behind his ear. She could tell the man was vain, for he was surely wearing make-up to enhance his face. It was a cruel if handsome face, and the sadistic gleam in the man's eyes made her quiver even while enhancing her disgust and revulsion. He wore the robe of an Imperial general, though he had not been officially confirmed as such, she remembered, due to public distaste. But he had the power in all but name. The robes were flamboyant. The man always dressed like a dandy.

He spoke. "My sweet little magic user," he whispered, grin widening at her glare, "with this Slave Crown I'll practically own you." He held up his other hand, within it the dark metal circlet that would rob her of independent thought, of most any conscious thought, in fact. Her eyes widened as she looked at it, and the man laughed again, echoing in the grim chamber like demonic laughter in the bowels of hell. "It's too bad you remembered the past, my dear, despite our best efforts to erase it from your memory. You should have let it lie. Now you'll have no chance to make any new memories." He released her chin, and held the crown above her head in both hands, looking down at her, still smiling, and then placed it upon her brow in a grand movement. Everything became misty again, and then everything changed.

She was riding in Magitek Armor, but it felt like she was observing herself from someone else's eyes, detached, unfeeling, unknowing. And yet she was fully aware of her actions, of her inability to stop herself from following the directions of the man with her, the same man who had enslaved her, riding in his own Magitek Armor near her, gleefully destroying houses. She manipulated the controls, and the village around her burned, the people burned, screaming at her, screaming in pain. Armed soldiers were crushed by the mech's clawed feet and ripped apart by the pincered arms. One managed to grab the rungs on the side and climb to the lip of the cockpit, starting to draw his sword, but she quickly ripped her own gracefully curved one from its scabbard and thrust it into his chest. As he fell she felt the power flowing through her and he burst into flame, landing on the ground a smoldering blackened mess.

The hated man laughed gleefully, stopping his Armor next to hers. "Good! Good! Burn up everything! Let them taste what happens when they defy our power, let them taste death, let them scream their pain." He gestured grandiosely at a group of villagers, struggling to pull one of their number from the debris of a ruined building, and fire shot out in all directions from them, flames exploding and burning white-hot. When it died down nothing was left but blackened bodies.

Everything changed again, and she stood at the top of wide and long steps, the front of the Imperial palace, a huge fortress of dark metal and brick, crimson Imperial banners with the Imperial rose on them flapping in the breeze, looking down at a massive sea of cheering soldiers in Imperial uniform, arranged by rank, the minority of black-uniformed officers in front, the slightly larger group of red-uniformed Magitek Armor officers behind them, and then came the massive sea of brown and green that made up the lower ranks, brown above green but almost as numerous, and behind them exultant common people and nobles alike, filling the grand square before the palace. She stood beside her Magitek Armor, still feeling detached from everything, still feeling as if she was watching someone else's plight. She may as well have been a bird looking down from the sky for any concern or interest she felt.

The Emperor was there, arms held high, his long robes waving in the wind, belted together at his waist to keep it from flying too chaotically, his silk clothing of the highest quality, his long white beard and mustaches moving slightly. The square, flat hat upon his head, even though plain, with only a red Imperial rose embroidered upon it to relieve its stark blackness, still seemed as grandiose as the Imperial crown he could wear, and as he proclaimed his speech, he seemed as imposing as a mountain, despite his age. Behind him, his three generals stood. Leo, his hair shorn on either side and cut short and flat on the top, stood stock straight, his general's robes of blue flowing in the wind as well, always the proper soldier, disciplined and loyal. But his eyes kept wandering to the other two generals beside him, one looked at kindly, the other with disapproval, the hand he had on his sword hilt tightening. He obviously didn't mind young Celes, a beautiful, blonde-haired woman in robes of yellow, curved sword at her side, but hatred was there for the other general, the maniacal man who had butchered countless people with frightening power. Her mind refused to recall his name. She didn't want to remember it. She wanted to forget everything. He stood there, in robes of green set off shockingly by clothes of scarlet, smiling still. Always smiling, unless he grew angry, and those who saw him so wished they had never earned his ire, for as crazed as he was in a good mood, in anger he was a true monster. He listened to the Emperor's speech with a superfluous air about him.

"We stand on the brink of a major breakthrough!" cried Gestahl, continuing his speech as the crowd's cheering died down, "In the days to come, we'll witness a total revival of Magic! It is our destiny, and ours alone, to take this mystic force and claim what is rightfully ours! With our new-found power, nothing can stand in our way!"

The crowd broke loose again, cries of "Long live Emperor Gestahl!" and "Hail Gestahl!" breaking through from the general pandemonium. The three generals raised their arms in salute, and then everything became misty again, like mist above water, and she felt a sudden shaking of her shoulders as her eyes snapped open. A dream. It was all a dream. Please let it just be a dream, she thought, and then her attention returned to the person who had awoken her. A young man's face under gray hair, dressed in black clothing. He smiled, seeing she was awake, and said, "Do you feel all right?" She groaned, and felt herself going back under already. Hopefully I don't dream this time, she thought.

--------

Locke frowned as the woman closed her eyes and appeared to fall unconscious again, but by her even breathing she didn't seem to be in danger of dying. He had examined her scalp, but the gash wasn't too serious, and a vial of medicine he had with him had helped it start to heal. It had been the bump that had put her under. He was afraid she had a concussion, but shaking her didn't seem to make her awaken. His head swiveled as he heard voices calling to each other, somewhere in the caves, very near. The cavern he was in wasn't too large, with two entrances leaving it. The one led to where he would escape, and the other to a maze of passages and columns where the voices were coming from. He didn't know how he was going to move the girl, and here were the guards, already arrived. He didn't think he could get her out of the mines while they were in pursuit, and by the amount of noise there were too many for him to fight alone.

He shook his head. He'd have to try to drag her to safety, even if there was the possibility they would catch up to him. Then he would be a sitting duck.

A sound startled him, coming from his escape route, and he groaned inwardly. If they had somehow manage to come from that direction, he was really done for. But what stepped into his lantern light was a small furry creature, no more than three feet tall. Locke gaped. He'd heard tell of them, but he had yet to see one. One of the other few sentient species he had heard tell of, the native creatures of the Narshe mines had been there when the first miners had discovered coal.

It was a strange creature, almost like a humanoid cat, with fur and whiskers, but in its eyes were an intelligience no cat had. The ones that inhabited the mountains had white fur, and this one was no different. And on its back were the strangest things about them: leathery wings like a bat. They were called Moogles, which was all anyone could ever figure out from their language, which consisted of what sounded like gibberish to men. No man had ever learned it, and so any interaction on the part of the two species had been limited to hand gestures and expressions. It held in its hands a spear, about three and a half feet long, and stood looking back and forth between Locke and the girl. Despite its size, Locke held his hands up in a peaceful gesture. Because of their relative peace towards men and their seclusion, no one ever thought of the moogles as a threat, but Locke had heard some people tell him they were implacable warriors.

It strode forward, still staring up at Locke, its whiskers quivering as it sniffed the air. Several more followed it out of the passageway, muttering amongst themselves as they looked at Locke and the unconscious woman, all armed. Locke couldn't understand any of it, although he could catch the word "Kupo" and variations of it like "Kupopo" and dozens of others. He shook his head, his attention returning to their leader, who quieted the rest by raising its paw.

He gestured at himself and uttered the word, "Mog." Then he leaned upon his spear and waited for Locke to follow suit.

Locked gestured to himself and said, "Locke," then he pointed at the girl and said, "Terra." Mog nodded, and Locke continued, "She's hurt. She fell from above," pointing at the ceiling. Mog looked up, and then nodded again. Locke pointed back into the warren of rock the guards' voices were coming from. "They want to hurt her more. I have to stop them."

Mog nodded, and then raised his spear, saying, "Kupo! Kupooo!" The other moogles followed suit.

"Are you saying you want to help me?" Locke asked. Mog nodded. Locke stood up from crouching by Terra and nodded back, and then drew his long dagger. "Alright. Let's catch them by surprise in the maze out there." Mog nodded. "And we have to try not o kill any of them." Mog looked quizzical for a second, and then acknowledgment showed in his eyes and he nodded vigorously.

Locke smiled. "Yeah, I didn't take you for a killer."

--------

The captain of the guards shrugged his shoulders at his subordinate's question. "I've never been this deep in the caves before, either, so don't ask me how to find your way through this maze. Get back in there and keep looking for her!" The subordinate guard glared at him, but turned around and went back into one of the passageways.

The subordinate joined back up with the other three in his group and they set off again, hands on the pommels of their swords. None of them had been this deep in the caves, though the first explorers in Narshe had supposedly explored every single inch of them. No maps survived, however, except for some cursory ones where the man-made mines ran into the caves. No one living knew how deep the caves went into the mountains. The group of guards peered around them, lifting their lanterns to illuminate all the crevices they could. At the edge of their vision a large object flew by, accompanied by the flapping of wings, but it was gone before they saw what it was. The leader of the group shook his head and muttered, "Just a bat," and they continued on. Another motion was discerned and more flapping, but again, they couldn't see what it had been. One of the others was murmuring fearfully under his breath, and the leader glared at him until he quieted. Suddenly the leader tripped, sprawling on his face, his sword flying and clattering on the rock.

He stared down at his ankle. A rope loop was tied around it. He had hit some sort of tripwire. He looked up just in time to see a club held in a small white paw flying at his face, and then he couldn't sense anything.The other guards yelled, one slashing at the moogle that had downed their leader, but it dodged out of the way, flapping its wings and rising to the ceiling and then pushing off with its feet, slamming into the guard's face full force, knocking him over, and then smashing him across the nose until he was unconscious. The other two guards were about to strike the moogle when a noise behind them made them whirl. Mog, wielding his spear like a quarterstaff, smacked the one's wrist, which broke with a loud snap, making him drop his sword, and then jabbed the butt of the spear in between the other's ankles and lifted, tripping him. As he fell Mog bashed him soundly across the head with the haft, and then whirled and hit the other guard across the temple with it as he screamed, kneeling on his knees and gripping his wrist. His scream cut off and he fell soundlessly to the rocky floor. Mog looked at his fellow moogle and nodded, and then they moved off into the maze in search of another group of men.

--------

Locke stood stock still in the deep indentation along the cave wall, waiting for the group of guards to pass him. The indentation was deep enough that if they just passed by with a cursory glance they wouldn't see him, but if they stopped and held the lantern up to examine it he would be seen for sure. He held his breath as they neared. His moogle companion was across the passage and a little down from him, so once they passed him, they would both leap out, blocking the four guards in. The guards reached him, and stopped, talking quietly to each other. Shouts were ringing out all over the cave complex, and they didn't sound like normal shouts, either, they were men in pain and combat. They looked at each other. "Sounds like trouble," whispered one, and his companions shook their heads. C'mon, thought Locke. Get moving.

They started moving again, passing Locke. He leaped out and brought his dagger's pommel down hard on the back of the rear guard's head, dropping him instantly. As they whirled and came at him, the one who had been leading fell suddenly, his legs entangled in the bola Locke's moogle companion had tossed at him. It leaped upon him with a rock it had picked up and bashed him on his crown, knocking him out. The two remaining guards stopped, indecision on which foe to attack painting their faces.

Locke whirled and brought his leg up, catching one across the face and slamming him into the wall, and then punched him in the guts, putting him to his knees before he brought the dagger pommel down on the back of his head like he had the first. The sole remaining guard swung his sword at Locke, but Locke parried it with the long dagger and kicked him in the groin. The man doubled over, making the back of his head a nice clear target.

Locke sheathed his dagger and then bent slightly, holding his hand out to the moogle. The moogle looked at it for a moment and then grasped it with its paw, shaking it. Then they left the unconscious guards and headed back in the direction of Terra's resting place, after Locke took a cursory rummage through their clothes for a few stray coins. "Hazard pay, you know. I'm trying to help your town, and you want to kill me," Locke told the unconscious men. He shook his head in mock dismay, and then focused on the path ahead where he knew Terra lay. Locke felt sure the moogles could handle the rest of this on their own.

--------

The captain of the guards was becoming more and more anxious by the minute. Shouts from his subordinates said they were under attack, and then they all fell eerily silent. His wolf-dog on its leash held by his hand growled and barked, wanting to go in, but the captain held it tight. He leaned forward, trying to peer into the darkness, trying to discern some small movement he saw. He heard the flapping of wings. Just a bat, he thought ruefully.

A whizzing sound was the only warning he had before a stone slammed into his face, knocking him backwards off his feet and out cold. His dog strained wildly at the leash, but it was wrapped tightly around the man's wrist, holding it fast. Three moogles stepped out of the shadows, one with an empty sling in its hand, and Mog with his spear and his companion with the club. Mog gestured to the other two and made a comment on their work, "Kupopo! Kupo kupoo!" and then they turned and walked back into the caves, back to the village to rest, assured that these humans at least wouldn't disturb them further after this experience.

--------

Locke strode slowly along the tunnel, lantern in one hand and his other arm across Terra's waist. He had avoided any passages with slime trails, not wanting to get into any encounters with the giant snails that inhabited the tunnels, as any that hadn't been domesticated could be prone to attack. He had Terra slung over his shoulder, and it wasn't too painful going, due to her slimness. She was semi-conscious, groaning, but it seemed like she was coming to slowly. He came to a dead-end with a large switch on the wall next to him, and lowered her to the ground. Her eyes fluttered open, and she yawned, stretching her arms. He crouched down next to her. "Eh, you back with us now? Are you feeling better?" he asked, keeping contact with her eyes to keep from staring at her hair. It was strange, though not terrifying, and he figured she was probably used to people looking at it, but he didn't want to anger her, especially if the rumors about how powerful she was were true. That and she was pretty, and he was always nice to pretty girls. He mentally slapped himself. He didn't want to get involved with this girl, knowing what she was.

Terra nodded. "Yes, I feel like I've rested for three days."

Locke nodded, smiling in relief. Terra appeared quizzical, and she asked, "Did you...save me? Thank you! Who are you?"

Locke smiled again. "My name is Locke. You should save your thanks for the moogles, the creatures that dwell in these caves. They helped me save you from the town guards. I'm a friend of Arvis, the old man you met earlier."

She nodded, and then frowned. "Yes. Yes, I remember him, that's for sure." At Locke's strange look, she continued, "I mean...I can't remember anything prior to him removing the crown, past or present." Except for that dream, she thought silently, but she kept that to herself.

"You have amnesia!" exclaimed Locke.

"The old man, I mean, Arvis, said my memory would come back, but I can't remember anything yet..."

"Give it time," replied Locke, comfortingly, "You're safe with me. I give you my word." Terra gazed at him, looking in his eyes, and then nodded, smiling. Locke stood up, grasping Terra's hand and helping her to her feet. She dusted herself off as he stepped back and raised his hand to the switch on the wall. "I won't leave you until your memory returns. And start exercising your mind by remembering this." He pulled the switch down, and a huge grating of gears started, sounding very rusty. The dead end began to slowly open, rock sliding aside to let in piercing cold wind and snow. "Don't forget this secret entrance. It might be useful someday. The first miners put it in as an escape route in case the town was ever attacked, but apparently the people have forgotten about it." He led her out into the piercing cold.

Terra was chilled to the bone quickly, and shivered. Locke said, "Don't worry, we'll be out of the cold soon. I'm taking you to the school here in Narshe. No one there knows about last night's events, not a word, and it'll be warm there for you to wait while I get us some traveling furs from town." They walked along the cliffs for a few minutes, until a large building came into view, butted up against the cliffface. Locke let go of Terra's hand and peered in one of the windows, and then opened the door and looked inside. He gestured to her and then walked in, and she followed.

It was not a large school house, but she saw that besides this entrance hall there were three other rooms, all filled with classes. The doors were closed but the backs of students could be seen studiously writing through the windows inset in the doors. A desk was placed there, and the professor seated at it looked up from his writing at their entrance. "Yes?" he asked, looking somewhat surprised but quickly stilling his face back to morose calm.

"Hello. We just arrived here, and I was just wondering if my wife could wait here out of the cold while I stepped into town for a bit to get some supplies, and then we'll be heading back out. No more than twenty minutes." The man raised his eyebrows. The nearest village was a day and a half journey south, below the snowline. No one would come the whole way to Narshe and not stay at least a day, if not longer. Locke forced his smile even wider and waited for the man's response.

The professor finally nodded, and Locke felt the tension go out of his shoulders. He turned to Terra. "You just wait here, hon, and I'll be back in a moment." Terra nodded, smiling at him humorously, and he turned and went out the door.

The professor called after him, "There was some sort of ruckus in town last night, so the guards will search you going in. No big deal, but don't offer any resistance if you don't want fined or worse!" He was going back to his writing when his eyes fell on Terra, and he froze.

Terra sat on one of the chairs leaning against the wall, letting out a sigh, and then noticed the professor staring at her, his pen held in the air, ink dripping from it to the parchment. Terra put on an air of displeasure and asked, "What are you looking at?"

"Your hair," said the man, simply.

Terra's hand went to her hair automatically, but then she calmly placed it back on her lap. This man certainly didn't have any tact. He was now studying her like she was a puzzle. She frowned, and attempted to change the subject as quickly as possible. "You're a professor here, correct?"The man shook slightly, coming out of deep thought, and said, "Yes, yes, I am the head scholar here at Narshe's school. The Council claims I charge too much, that these children don't need a proper education, all of that, but I feel that everyone is entitled to a primary course on all the major subjects, to at least a certain degree, and that any who wish to further their education should be allowed to do so. Sometimes I feel like I'm not doing anything spectacular here, what with only around a hundred students, if that, but if I allow just one of them to grow up properly educated so they can better their self in their life, it will be worth it." He blinked, as if surprised that he had said so much. Terra continued, not wanting him to go back to examining her, asking, "Would you know anything about...magic, then? The power to...heal wounds? Just by thinking about it?"

The scholar nodded, pursing his lips in thought. "Yes, yes, I assume you're referring to the War of the Magi, the last known record of the use of magic in this world. At least until the Empire rediscovered its use, so I suppose you want to know about that. However, the way they gain the ability is not how it is said man did so in the past. No, some of those men had much greater powers, because they were given the power of magic with permission from the Espers, not stealing their magical essence by force with machines like the Empire does." The professor cocked his head. "Heal wounds? I suppose there is magic that can heal, but the Empire certainly hasn't pursued it to any great degree. All they know is destruction."Terra shook her head. War of the Magi? Espers? "I don't know what the War of the Magi is, and what are these Espers? I heard a man mention an Esper was found here, but I don't know what one is." An image drifted through her mind, something scaly and feathery all at once, but it slipped away just as quick as it came.

It was the professor's turn to shake his head. "You must be grossly uneducated to not know of the War of the Magi. Then again, most people consider it a myth, that magic never existed, much less Espers, that whatever disaster set the world back a thousand years was something else, something more real and explainable. With the war going on, I suppose some have realized the truth, but many still don't believe magic ever existed, or exists now." The man leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands together. "The War of the Magi was an event that has since passed into legend, so the specifics are misty, but in those days Espers, strange creatures that could use the power of magic, walked the planet freely and lived among men. The Esper in the cave is only one of many thousands and thousands that existed, and they didn't all look like that, but were of many different appearances and shapes, though often of a bestial appearance, even if they seemed human they were often horned or fanged or furred. Apparently some power-hungry men became greedy for the power they wielded and seeked to take it for themselves. And so the War of the Magi began. I don't know how the men obtained the power of Magic. It was probably in much the same way that the Empire is doing it, but they keep that closely under wraps, though it apparently involves draining the Esper of its power using some sort of mechanism and infusing it into men, and machines. And therefore killing the Esper."

The events of the war are unknown, but Espers and humans wielding the power against each other tore the world to pieces, raised seabeds into mountains and made mountains into valleys, moved entire continents apart and changed the face of the planet before the war's end. Finally, the loss became too much, and humans and Espers made peace between them. The Espers, what remained of them, for many had been slain, decided to leave the world of men, and went through some sort of gateway somewhere to another world where they built their home. Whether some still survive there, I do not know. Humans were left to rebuild their homes the best they could, but much of what had been learned was lost, and the world entered a dark age. It has been a thousand years since then, and I do not know if we have yet to recover completely. And now Gestahl and the Empire seem set to repeat the mistakes of the past." The professor sighed. "If only people would realize that history repeats itself, and so pledge to learn about it. If only people had the love of learning I have, perhaps the world would be more peaceful." He looked at Terra. "Did you learn all you wanted?"

Terra paused in nodding, and said, "You didn't tell me about the people who had greater power than the Empire wields. How did they get more strength in magic than the people who stole it from the Espers?"

The professor shrugged. "The exact details are cloudy, just like everything else, but basically, it was given to them. Willingly. Those humans allied themselves with the Espers, seeing the injustice done against them, and recieved the power of Magic because of their pledge. Their magic was stronger than those who drained it from the Espers, more pure, not diluted and weakened by passage through a machine. Perhaps just the fact that the Esper gave it willingly made it more potent, if there is any justice in the world. I cannot tell you anything more on the subject, as I do not know."

Terra nodded, and was about to ask another question, to find out something about the Empire, but Locke came through the door, dressed in a fur coat and fur breeches, holding another set of clothing bundled in his arms, along with a sack. He held it up in front of him, smiling. "More than enough food for our journey below the snowline. Maybe even enough for us to get back home, honey." He turned to the professor and bowed. "Thank you for your hospitality, sir."

The man chuckled, the first humor Terra had seen out of him. "No need to thank me. I was able to give to your wife an entire dissertation on the War of the Magi, if a little less in-depth than I would give to a student taking a full course. Any chance I have to teach is welcome to me. I'm surprised she was never taught about it, but then again, with the state the world is in today, I am not that surprised. I suppose I'll have to tell you about it, as well?"

Locke shook his head. "No, no, I know all about it. Magic tearing the world apart and such. Heard the story from my father at bedtime several times, and read about it. Gave me nightmares. I guess I'm just more into books than my wife," said Locke fervently, looking at Terra with concern in his eyes. She smiled back at him, and he looked a little relieved. "In any case, we have to be going. Good day to you, sir." Terra followed him outside, and she put on the fur coat and slid the pants over her legs, and even put on the ridiculous looking cap Locke handed her. "Most of the heat escapes through the top of your head, you know, Lady Cole," he said good humouredly at her mock scowl. They trudged off into the brightening day, the keening wind picking up and making their figures disappear into white clouds of snow.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

They journeyed through the snow for two and a half days, Locke saying they had to take it slow because of Terra's condition. At night they camped in the deepest hollow they could find, out of the harsh wind, surrounded by the pines that dominated the land this far north. Locke explained some of the local geography to her on the first night they camped, after they had trudged through snow for most of the day, quitting before the sun was halfway to the horizon. The fire Locke built was warm and large, to scare away any monsters that might wander too near, and they sat across from each other, talking across the flames.

"Narshe is probably the most northern town in the world," said Locke, the fire playing on his face casting much of it in shadow, "and even it is only about fifty miles into the northern reaches. Miles and miles of icy land are north of it, and the pole is completely ice and snow. To the south lies Figaro, called the desert kingdom, because the capital lies in the heart of the desert, due to the rain shadow it lies in from the mountains to the north, west, and east; though the entire kingdom reaches past the mountains to the southeast to the city of South Figaro and the mountains to the west to the town of Kohlingen, both under its control. Though only South Figaro claims allegiance to the king, now, now that King Edgar has sided with the Empire." Locke shook his head. "There are hard feelings in Kohlingen against the Empire. Very hard feelings. I know, I lived there a long while back…if only they knew the truth about Edgar..."

"What truth?" asked Terra.

Locke raised his eyes, and then lowered them. "Nothing, nothing. Just muttering, that's all." Locke began rubbing his gloved left hand absent-mindedly.

Terra noticed the bulge on his ring finger, and asked, "May I see the ring you wear?"

Locke jumped, and then indecision flickered on his face. He finally sighed. "I guess I will have to, since if I don't it will seem suspicious anyway." Locke pulled the glove off his hand, holding it up to the firelight. On it was almost the twin of the signet ring that had lain on Arvis' desk, a ruby inset in silver, a sword entwined in roses carved into the jewel.

Terra stared. "The old man, he had the same ring…what does it mean?"

Locke shook his head. "That, I cannot tell you, under any circumstances." He raised his hand to forestall her argument, and smiled. "At least, not yet. You will find the meaning of it out soon enough, after I get you to Figaro. Probably. So just a few more days, okay?"

Terra frowned, but nodded and lay back, looking up at the dark sky on her blanket roll. There was silence for a while, and then she spoke. "I wish I could remember my past. It's like having part of your soul ripped out. I feel almost like I was born yesterday, literally." Terra turned her head, looking at the flames, feeling her eyes become heavy. "Only in dreams do I recover any of my soul, but what I see makes me fear getting it back…goodnight, Locke…" She closed her eyes, falling into a deep slumber.

Locke sat upright for a few minutes more, gazing into the flames, playing with the ring on his finger. Only a few years since he had first put it on, but it felt like he'd worn it forever. It was a part of him now, to replace the part he had lost. But it's a poor replacement, he thought sadly. He was twenty-five, and already all thoughts of a family were past him. All that was left was the fight. He lay down, finally, and closed his eyes. The girl had spoke of fearing her dreams. Locke had feared his, as well, but he had lived with them a long enough time to be used to them. He fell asleep, breathing the cold night air deeply.

The next day was much the same as the first, though patches of brownish grass could be seen here and there, the wind felt less harsh, less strong, fading into a more normal breeze than that that ruled Narshe. They walked longer than they had the day before, faster, for Terra showed no sign of exhaustion or lagging. They made up any miles they had lost the day before, and added many more, before the setting sun set Locke to finding suitable shelter. He put them beneath an overhang, the fire outside so the smoke could escape easily. It was already much warmer than it had been the night before, and his ears had popped around mid-day. He and Terra chatted a little bit, she asking about Figaro's capital, what the king was like. Locke told her as much as he could, and then they lay down to sleep.

At mid-day the next day they reached the small village he had spoken of back in Narshe's school. It was very small indeed, merely two dirt streets intersecting in an x, dwindling to nothing at the outskirts of town, more of an outpost for fur-traders and people traveling to Narshe than anything else. Small houses lined the streets, and one ramshackle inn with a stable, and one small general store where Locke replenished their supplies, also buying three large water skins. "For the trip across the desert," Locke said at Terra's questioning glance. Terra seemed to hurry him, the clerk at the counter staring at her hair, and Locke obliged, not wanting her to feel uncomfortable more than need be. Locke sold off the thick furs they had been wearing for a decent price, not much less than they he had paid for them in Narshe, due to their only slight wear. Some thick underclothes he bought would replace them just fine, and he figured that with the aid of Chocobos they'd be packing those away before a day had passed, as well.

Terra was astonished when Locke first showed her the giant birds that inhabited the stable. Twice the size of a man, their feathers were of a beautiful yellowish-white, with broad beaks and a friendly disposition, nuzzling against Terra's hand when she stroked them. Chocobos couldn't fly—their wings were diminutive and under-developed—but they could run incredibly fast, and didn't tire easily. Domesticated and saddled, they were a terrific means of transportation.

"It seems like I should remember seeing one, but I just can't. I haven't had too much trouble so far with remembering everyday things, just events," said Terra to Locke, scratching the side of a chocobo's head as it leaned over the door of its pen.

"It's entirely possible you've never seen one before. The Empire used to use them as warbirds, fitting them with armor, when they rode into battle, but once they invented Magitek Armor they went to the wayside," replied Locke. "As a soldier, you probably spent most of your time piloting one of those, I would think, and Vector itself tries to focus all its efforts on technology and machines, so you probably wouldn't see one in the streets, either. Other cities on the southern continent would have them, though, and the armies of some cities not occupied by the Empire still use them in combat, mainly Figaro and Doma, a kingdom on the eastern continent. Then again, those kingdoms are the only ones with very large armies, the only real threats to the Empire."

They left the stable and took beds at the inn, and early the next morning saw them riding rented chocobos south, towards the desert. The chocobos were much like the homing pigeons used to deliver letters to distant places—they could find their way back to the stables they had been raised in, and these were so used to trips back and forth from the village to Figaro that it was second nature to them. Locke found he didn't need to guide them with the reins much at all, or force them to pick up the pace, as they easily ran forty miles per hour without much effort. Their long, taloned legs ate distance, and before the sun was setting the edge of the desert could be seen ahead of them, shimmering in the failing light, still hot. Locke found a small stream and filled the three water-skins, and made sure the chocobos drank their fill before he removed their saddles and bits and hobbled them, leaving them to peck the ground in search of food while he built their fire.

As they were bedding down, Locke said to Terra, "We'll be entering the desert tomorrow. We'll ration our water, but with the speed of the chocobos I don't think there'll be a problem. They thrive well in hot or cold conditions. I just want to warn you there may be some danger from the local wildlife. A species of scorpion as big as a small dog inhabits the desert, preying on poisonous snakes several feet longer than I'm used to, which prey on yet smaller but just as nasty things. So just watch yourself. The chocobos can fend for themselves, though, with their talons, so don't worry too much."

The next day saw them already deep into the desert, the hot sun threatening to burn Terra's skin even with the ointment Locke had provided her rubbed into it. Locke guided the chocobos away from any piles of rock he figured hid the local wildlife, so the journey was rather uneventful, but there was one small encounter with a nest of the scorpions. His chocobo squawked loudly, giving a resounding "Wark!" before trampling right over one. The scorpion's tail flashed, but the stinger didn't penetrate the hoary hide of the chocobo's feet. Locke quickly leaned down and jabbed his dagger into the tail, hanging off the side of his saddle, pinning it to the rocky soil. His chocobo proceeded to stamp on it until it quit twitching. The rest of the scorpions scattered, obviously afraid of such large animals. Terra drew up, asking if Locke was alright. He wiped his dagger on a rag he drew from an inner pocket, wet with the scorpion's fluids. He smiled and sheathed the dagger. "No problem at all." He gave the chocobo's reins a flick and they continued on.

Late in the afternoon the sun could be seen glinting on something ahead. Terra shaded her eyes, but it was just a blur on the horizon. "Is that Figaro already?" she asked Locke.

Locke nodded. "The sun is glinting off some of the metal in the outer towers that surround the place. The turbines in them work deep wells to draw up water for the people's use. Figaro used to reside near an oasis on the south coast, but now they've moved nearer to the center of the desert because of the Empire."

Terra shook her head. "They must've been afraid, to just pick up and leave their homes to rebuild here. They must be a strong people to reside here."

Locke grinned. "Well, about moving…well, I probably shouldn't say. Let me just say that every stone of the palace that lay on the coast now resides here, every single one accounted for."

Terra frowned, puzzled. Move every single brick of the palace a hundred miles or more North? She shook her head. She couldn't imagine such effort. How had they done it?

They reached the castle at around six in the afternoon. Terra was awed by its size. The massive ramparts of the main keep soared into the sky, and two smaller sub-keeps to either side of the main building were connected to it by bridges. Terra had expected something grander looking, though, not just in size but in beauty. It was architecturally sound, but it had the look of a fortress more than a palace. Still, it was beautiful, in the way that a simple fence is beautiful, simplicity and usefulness.

There was no wall around the castle, simply the towers which Terra could tell formed a wide ring around the entire complex to give a semblance of a border, giving off a loud humming noise and the whap-whap of fans. The ground became far less rocky and more sandy, low, soft dunes that their chocobo's feet sank into.

There were no houses surrounding the fortress. "Where are the people?" asked Terra, voicing her thoughts aloud.

"Oh, the majority of the citizens of the kingdom reside in South Figaro, a far more fertile place on the other side of the mountains, to the south-west, and of course some live in Kohlingen, the other side of the western mountains. Any who live here reside in the castle in their own rooms and quarters, and mainly work for the king, but there are also merchants and craftsmen who peddle their wares. Edgar is a kind and generous ruler, and the people love him. Even those in Kohlingen who disagree with his politics still care for him as a person. And his genius has allowed them to prosper, even here in the middle of this desert!" Locke exclaimed. "He designed the drills that dug the wells and the means to draw water up, put in turbines in the underground streams to generate electricity for the palace, the palace's defenses, most everything! He's a true engineer, a true genius."

Locke led them underneath one of the bridge's that connected the main keep to one of the sub-keeps. Terra looked up at the sudden shade, and noticed what appeared to be a metal track on the bridge's underside, and there were gaps at either of its ends where it entered the walls rather than connecting to them. In the ground beneath her ride's feet she saw another similar track, half visible under sand, parallel to it, also connecting the two keeps. She wondered what they were for, but their rounding of the keep and approach of the main entrance prevented her from questioning Locke about it.

They had already been sighted by a few guards on the walls and waved at. Obviously Locke was recognized here. The guards at the front questioned them as they pulled up, but their faces lit up with recognition at the sight of Locke. One soldier did a small bow to him and told him they could proceed. Locke grinned over his shoulder at Terra, who raised her eyebrows as he led her through the two thick main doors, open at this time of day, into the cooler environs of the entrance hall. Four staircases were there, one going up and one going down on each side. Terra assumed the two going up each went to one of the bridges crossing to the other keeps, but she had no idea what lay downstairs.

Locke was moving ahead of her, opening another door across from the main entrance, leading her out into a sort of raised courtyard. She could look down at the desert from here through the ramparts, and she noticed large side doors leading back inside. Locke walked straight forward, however, following a lush outdoor carpet towards a large tower at the back of the castle, the inner-keep, where the throne-room would be located. He threw open another thick set of doors, another line of defense in this fortress.

Here was what seemed a large indoor bazaar, people chatting with each other and merchants behind large tables, bargaining for goods. A blacksmith pounded metal in a corner, smoke from the forges being whisked away by a fan above him inset in the roof, apparently a chimney to the outside. Several pieces of armor and weaponry sat on racks near him, looked at studiously by a few soldiers and one who appeared to be a merchant's guard, by the coarseness of his clothing.

Locke strode nonchalantly through giant brass-bound doors, streaked with banners. Terra followed him into the throne-room, stopping suddenly at the beauty before her in this otherwise stern building. Polished ivory columns made a pathway to two thrones on the dais at the back of the room, and fringed banners decorated the walls. Burnished gold decorated the thrones, and there was even some stained glass in inner windows next to doors to either side of them.

Terra's gaze swept back down to see Locke conferring with a blonde-haired man, dressed in fine silk and a long fur cape. His handsome face had a very strong chin and nose, and a high forehead. He appeared to be in his late twenties, a little older than Locke. His long hair was done up in a braid, and he kept glancing out of the corner of his eye at Terra. A few words of their conversation drifted to her as she approached them, something about "the resistance" and her name. Edgar started to tell him about something he wanted Locke to do for him, but Locke turned his head to look at Terra as she walked up.

The man turned to look at her, but almost seemed to be looking through her, as if she were not there. "You mean, THIS young woman?" he said to Locke, his hand to his chin, eyes thoughtful. Terra stiffened. The man turned away and paced a few feet. Terra glared at him, asking loudly, "Who do you think you are!"

The man stopped, his back still to her. "Oh…sorry!" He suddenly whirled, cape swirling, and reached out and grasped her hand, bending over and kissing the back of it. He looked up at her, smiling. "How rude of me to turn my back to a lady! I am Edgar Roni Figaro, King of Figaro and your humble servant."

Terra nodded, numbly, and took her hand from his fingers, glancing at Locke. Locke had his arms crossed, and he looked as if he were suppressing laughter. "Surprised somebody like me knows a king?" he asked, eyes twinkling. He raised his hand in a wave and walked past her, towards the open doors. "Talk to you later, I have a few things to do. I'll leave you two alone."

Terra looked longingly at the exit, but Edgar attracted her attention again. "So…you're an Imperial soldier. That's no problem! Figaro and the Empire are allies. Please relax while you're here, and have a look around. It's not in my blood to harm a lady. You should find the people courteous enough to you. I have some business of state to attend to, but I can talk to after a little while. Just come back here. I'll be waiting rapturously." Edgar smiled, and then bowed, and turned to walk away.

"Why are you helping me?" Terra asked. "Is it because of my abilities?"

Edgar stopped, looking back at her over his shoulder, and then held up his hand. Terra was startled to suddenly notice a silver ring on it, inset with a ruby. "I'll give you three reasons," he said, holding up one finger. "First of all, your beauty has captivated me!" Two fingers. "Second…I'm dying to know if I'm your type." Three fingers, what was inscribed in the jewel of the ring clearly visible. A sword entwined with roses. "And I guess…your abilities…ah…would be a distant third." He lowered his hand haltingly, and began walking once more.

"What's with you, anyway?" Terra said, half to herself.

Edgar stopped again, and Terra could hear him mutter, "Must be getting rusty…", before he started walking again, disappearing into a door to the left of the dais.

Terra shook her head, looking at the flag stone floor, alone in the throne-room. "I suppose a normal girl would have found him dashing," she whispered to herself, "but I'm hardly a normal girl…" She turned, walking back out of the throne room.

She stopped to look at a merchant's clothing, back out in the bazaar, a fine split riding-dress with a matching cloak. They were the same purple of the clothes she wore, and she picked them up, noting that the cloak would go with either. She raised her head, going to ask the merchant how much they cost, and found him staring at her. Or, rather, her hair. She could feel other eyes on her back. She sighed inwardly, and started moving frantically.

"I want these, and this as well," she said, grabbing a large square of purple cloth along with the dress and cloak. She thrust them at the merchant, and he, looking startled, grabbed them and told her they would cost thirty gil. She took the coins from her belt pouch, from an amount Locke had given her while they were traveling to Figaro, and stuck them in his hand. He oogled them as she hurried away, calling after her, "You gave me too much, my lady," but she paid him no mind.

Terra found a quiet corner, away from prying eyes, next to a suit of armor, and quickly did up her green hair with the square of cloth, folding it around her head as a covering. She peered into the gleaming metal of the armor and nodded to herself. It looked stylish enough, and not out of place. She folded the dress neatly and folded the cloak around it, all in a bundle, and with it under her arm she proceeded into the palace.

She found herself back in the entrance hall, and walked down the right-hand stairs. She found nothing there but what looked to be large engine being inspected by an engineer and another stair-case going down blocked-off with a sign that read "DANGER" in large red letters. The man looked at her quizzically, and she gave a nervous smile before going back up the stairs.

She investigated the other staircase, and found herself blocked by a guard dressed in armor with a belted on sword, telling her this was the dungeon and there were dangerous thieves here, broken in to loot the place at night. Peering over his shoulder at the cell, she could see three normal if seedy looking men and a rather startling fourth thing, like a wolf that stood on its back legs dressed like a human. It was apparently sentient, however, since it was cursing the guards with some of the darkest oaths Terra had ever heard. Or felt she had heard, anyway. It ranted that it was Lone Wolf, the greatest thief ever to walk the land, and when it escaped it would do horrific things to them. Terra left hurriedly as it leered at her and made an obscene gesture. Apparently it was a male.

Terra was disheartened so far, but finding her way into way into the western sub-keep she found a rather large and furnished apartment with beds. Some kindly maids told her it was where guests of the king stayed, and word had already spread that she had been welcomed by him personally. There was a mischievous look in the eye of the one that told her this. "Edgar flirts with all the women here, but we're a bit too smart to fall for it. Most of the time," she said with a throaty chuckle. Terra's face grew hot and she excused herself, flustered. She could've done with a nap, but she'd come back later when the maids weren't there to whisper scandalous things to each other and her, all with a wink and a knowing smile.

Walking down a broad staircase outside the apartment brought her to another hallway with a single broad door and an exit to the outside. The great door was ajar, and she pushed it open to peek in.

An elderly maid was changing the sheets on a large four-poster bed. Beautiful drapes covered the windows, and a set of gleaming armor, lacquered green and with a green cape, was arrayed on a stand next to the bed and a dresser. Leaning against it was a large crossbow of strange design, with a leather shoulder strap, and a two-edged sword hung on the wall above the armor, about three feet long and broad. The maid looked up at the door scraping softly on the floor. Her elderly face wrinkled as she smiled. "Why, you're the lass who's the king's guest, correct?"

Terra nodded, embarrassed. "Yes, he told me to have a look around and…this must be his room. I should probably leave—"

"Nonsense!" the old maid cut-in, "You won't find out anything about the king that way. One should know all about the man whose eye they've caught, if you want to have a successful relationship. And the upper-hand in that relationship, too, of course." Ignoring Terra's protestations, she quickly had her seated and handed her an open tin of butter cookies. "I don't have any tea, dear, but this should keep you happy for the moment." The maid sat down across from her, still smiling broadly, and continued where she had left off.

"Oh, yes, I know most everything about little Edgar—well, I guess he isn't so little anymore, of course, but when you help raise a child for twenty-seven years they always remain that way in your mind. He and his brother were always a hand-full, but Edgar has grown-up to be such a gracious and kind man. Why, I'd say he's an even better king than his father, and that's saying a lot. His father knew how to rule, but Edgar has helped bring this kingdom into the modern age. It's amazing how well he has done, what with having it all thrust on him so young. His father died when he was fifteen, a mere youth, and two years later he ascended the throne. His father's death hit him hard. Perhaps it would've been better if he had died suddenly, in a way, but he died slowly, as if he were wasting away. No one knew what was wrong with him, although there were rumors…that the Empire…" The maid waved her hand hurriedly. "Well, never mind all that. They were only rumors, and no one really believed them, I think. Edgar bounced back, and here we are today. It would've been easier for him if his brother had also ascended to rule beside him, as their father wished, but it just wasn't meant to be, I guess."

"His brother? What was his brother like? What happened to him?" asked Terra

The maid answered, "Edgar has a twin brother. He was such a nice boy…his name is Sabin. Sabin Rene Figaro. But he shunned the throne. Perhaps his father's death hurt him even more than Edgar, or the rumors at the time made him fear ruling. Whatever the reason, he and his brother had a sort of falling out, I believe, and he left the castle, saying he would never return. He lives somewhere near South Figaro, but I haven't seen him since he left. When he ran away he was such a sweet little child, slender, more given to books and the indoors than Edgar. I wonder what he's like now…" the maid trailed off, and Terra took the pause to stand up and wipe some crumbs from her pants.

"Thank you for talking to me, but I think I should be going. Edgar probably wants to speak with me some more. Thank you." The maid smiled at her, rising also, and placing her hand on Terra's shoulder, led her out to the hall.

"You're such a mild-mannered young girl. Even if Edgar is older than you, you and he would get along fine together." Terra blushed, but the maid didn't seem to notice. "Hurry to him, now. Let the man think he's in control. Most of the time, that is." She chuckled, and turned to go back into the room. Terra went to the exit door in a rush.

The sun was still baking and hot, whisking away any moisture from Terra's skin, but she ventured out into it anyway, not wanting to see any more maids, even if she had to take the long way back to the throne-room. She decided to quickly go through the other sub-keep before going there.

She was happy to get back inside after walking along the front of the fortress, entering the other sub-keep through a ground floor door. There was a small but well-furnished apartment here, and another staircase leading up. She took it, finding herself in a large library, scholars hurrying back and forth, looking at the long and numerous bookshelves. She stopped one, asking for a book about magic, but he shook his head. "We're spending all our time researching magic, now," the man said, pointing at a large table surrounded by a dozen scholars poring over thick tomes, "and they'll have every single volume there is, every shred on it, and they can't afford to let you have one to read, I'm afraid. You'll have to wait until we've compiled all the information we can. I'm sorry." He hurried on, calling for a ladder, and Terra left, to find her way back to the throne room.

Edgar was there, lounging in the left throne, his chin cupped in his hand. He seemed to be in deep thought. Locke leaned against a pillar near him, cleaning his fingernails with a small knife. Edgar sighted Terra and sat up, smiling, and Locke turned to her and folded the knife up. "Well, how do you like my castle?" Edgar asked.

Before Terra could answer, a soldier ran in, brushing past her, and quickly kneeled before Edgar before rising. He said hurriedly, "King Edgar. Someone from the Empire to see you has just arrived. He's still outside, but he wants to speak with you on the colonnade."

Edgar nodded, rising, his face in a sudden grimace. "Probably Kefka, I'd assume?" The soldier nodded in assent, giving Edgar a bemused smile. Edgar shook his head and strode quickly, signaling to Locke to follow him. He apologized to Terra as he walked past her. "I'm sorry, my dear. More affairs of state. I should be with in you a minute, though." Terra hesitated, and then followed through the bazaar to the large door. She stopped there, to watch from inside. She would be invisible to anyone outside because of the glare of the sun, and she doubted that she wanted to meet anyone from the Empire yet, if ever. I want to be as far away as possible, she thought. But she doubted it could remain that way forever.

-------

Outside the walls, a man with long blonde-hair pulled back from his face stepped down from a chocobo, flanked by two Imperial soldiers in brown uniform. He knuckled the small of his back, a pained expression on his face, and looked up at the castle and sniffed. He wore a thin metal hauberk over his torso, with a flowing green cape around his shoulders, but that was his only armor. His only visible weapon was a long, thin, slightly curving sword buckled at his side. His clothing seemed to be made of fine silk, darkened with sweat, and lace fell at the cuffs and neck of the scarlet coat he wore under the armor, the Imperial rose embroidered on the collar.

He looked at the keep again, sneering. "Emperor Gestahl's stupid orders…I could be enjoying delicious and raucous decadence back in Vector right now. What I deserve for all the work I've done. But instead I'm frying in this desert," he said, as if to himself, ignoring the two soldiers flanking him, who eyed each other behind his back with raised eyebrows.

"Edgar, you pinhead! Why do you have to live in the middle of nowhere?" the man growled under his breath. "I hate these recon jobs. Who would even want to conquer a place like this? Leo can say what he wants about South Figaro, this place is a waste of time." He looked down at his feet, fuming, and noticed the sand caking his boots.

He turned around, clearing his throat, and looked at the two soldiers, who quickly stiffened to attention. "There is SAND on my boots," he said loudly, and the soldier on the right quickly bent over, pulling a rag from a pocket and rubbing his superior's boots, spit-shining them to a glistening sheen. He straightened, and the man adjusted his cape and brushed his sleeves, and looked at the two stiff-backed soldiers for a moment. Then he turned with a derisive, "Idiots…" and strode forcefully towards the castle doors, the two soldiers quickly following him.

The guard at the door stared numbly at the man. "Sir Kefka! What on earth do—" the man cut-off as Kefka pushed him aside with a terse, "Outta my way," his two soldiers elbowing in behind him. Kefka pushed open the inner-door, coming out onto the open colonnade atop the walls. Edgar stood there, arms crossed, with a forced smile, obviously waiting for him. Another man leaned against the ramparts nearby, dressed in black clothing, but Kefka dismissed him immediately as a peasant. He stopped before Edgar, a forced smile breaking his face as well.

Inside the doorway to the bazaar, Terra gasped loudly, and then clapped her hand over her mouth. The man in front of Edgar didn't seem to hear, however, and she lowered it to her side, suddenly feeling numb. It was him. The man from her dream. The crazed butcher, the vain dandy. Her enslaver. It had happened. It had all happened. She suddenly felt dizzy, and leaned back against the wall, the cool stone against her cheek. The searing flame, the smoke, and crying and screaming rushed back to her. She shook her head. No. She didn't want to remember. She leaned back out, looking at the scene in the raised courtyard. She didn't want to remember.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Edgar smiled widely, but it certainly never reached his eyes. If I have to listen to one more tirade or threat from this guy, he thought, I don't know if I'll be able to control myself, no matter the cost to my kingdom. What he said aloud, however, was, "What brings Kefka, humble servant of Emperor Gestahl, into our lowly presence?"

Kefka smiled warmly, his eyes like ice. "A girl of no importance recently escaped from us. A prisoner. A criminal. And we have heard she has sought refuge here. No fault of yours, of course, Lord Edgar, but any help in capturing her would be greatly appreciated. She shouldn't be hard to find. Eighteen years old, rather pretty, and she has one little characteristic that should make her stand out," said Kefka, turning to look out over the desert sands, bathed in the red of the setting sun. "She has GREEN hair." He watched Edgar's expression out of the corner of his eye.

Edgar merely raised his eyebrows, and replied, "If she is of no importance, why did you travel all the way here personally, if I may ask?"

Kefka gritted his teeth, his smile becoming more of a grimace. "Have you seen her, Edgar?"

Edgar turned to gaze out over the sands as well, a thoughtful look on his face. "This wouldn't have anything to do with this 'witch' everyone's been whispering about, would it?"

Kefka's grimacing smile grew smaller at that, and he said agitatedly, "Lies! She…merely stole something of minor value. From the Emperor's quarters, and he considered it a personal affront to himself. Now, Edgar. Again. Is she here?" His smile disappeared completely as Edgar turned his back to him, arms widespread, shrugging.

"That's a tough one! You see, there are more women in here than there are grains of sand out there," he said, twirling to face Kefka again, whose face had lost any semblance of emotion. Even his eyes seemed flat. Edgar lowered his arms. "I can't keep track of them all!"

"I'd hate to be you if we found out you're lying…" said Kefka, softly, and then his face broke out in a grin, completely sincere, and joy found its way into his eyes, suddenly shining, and he chuckled. Edgar's smile faded somewhat. "I'd hate to see anything happen to your precious Figaro…no matter how hot it is here already, Edgar, it can get hotter. Much hotter. Like the hounds of hell are breathing at your doorstep," said Kefka, fervently, leaning forward, madness in his eyes—and suddenly he turned away, signaling to the two Imperial troopers who had been standing there silently, and he turned towards the main entrance. "I'll inform the Emperor that the girl isn't to be found here. Good day, Lord Edgar." Two Figaro guards hauled the doors open for him, and then he was gone.

Edgar felt tension leave his body, and he stood there, frowning at the thick doors that had been shut-to hurriedly as soon as Kefka was through them. He couldn't have come all this way by himself with only those two troopers, especially without staying the night, he thought. Could there be Imperial troops in Figaro already? His thoughts were interrupted as Locke stood up straight from where he had been leaning against the ramparts, walking over to him.

"That guy's missing a few buttons, eh?" Locke said, good-humoredly, but there was concern in his eyes.

Edgar merely nodded, and they both fell silent, looking at the flag-stones of the rooftop until Edgar suddenly piped up, asking, "Where's Terra?" He turned towards the bazaar to see her hurriedly walking out, her eyes looking over his shoulder as she came up to him, at the door that Kefka had left through.

Edgar smiled. "Don't worry, he's gone. Kefka Palazzo's not a very likable fellow in any way, shape, or form, but Figaro has close ties with the Empire. No harm will come of his presence, to you or anyone here." Terra shook her head, but he didn't know whether it was to dismiss his concern for her or to disagree with him. Do you really know for sure, yourself? Edgar stilled thoughts of that nature and turned to Locke. "Take her to her room." He turned back to Terra. "I'd love to chat with you, but once again, affairs of state come between us. The Chancellor and I must plan our political strategy." Edgar sighed, looking up at the inner-tower's roof, eyes looking inward. "Sometimes I hate being a king." He looked back down at Terra, smiling again. "If you'll excuse me," he said, walking past her towards the throne room.

Terra stood looking after him, her eyes on the ring-finger of his left hand, until Locke touched her on the arm, motioning her to follow him. He led her through the library to the small apartment she had seen before, and watched her as she put her belt and pouches on the hooks there, and the package she had been holding on the chair. He glanced at the cloth wrapped around her hair, but said nothing, leaning up against the doorframe as she settled herself.

Terra sat on the bed, facing him, and asked, "Is it true you're a thief, Locke? I overheard someone…"

"That's 'treasure hunter'!" said Locke, loudly, and then grinned at her blush. "Yes, I've taken a few things that don't belong to me in my time, but they usually didn't rightfully belong to the ones I took them from, either. Most of the time."

Terra smiled, and then it faded, and she looked at the small window, at the last few embers of the sun, barely visible above the horizon, though the desert still shimmered with heat. "How can Edgar ally himself with people like…that man?" Images of death flashed in her head, and she quickly pushed them out with a deep breath, and she looked at Locke

Locke shook his head at her questioning gaze. "I guess it's time I told you, about the ring, now that we're here, now that I've spoken with Edgar. The one I wear, the one Arvis wears. You noticed it on Edgar, correct?" Terra nodded. Locke continued, head lowered, looking at his boots. "I think I can trust you. From the time we've spent together so far, what I know about you, I think I can." Terra remained silent, looking expectantly.

Locke sighed. "Here goes. On the surface, Edgar pretends to support the Empire. The truth is, he's collaborating with a group known as the Returners, an underground organization opposed to the Empire, its ideas, methods, and means, dedicated to fighting it, with their lives if need be. I am his contact with that group. Arvis, the old man you met in Narshe, is one of us, as is Edgar."

"The ring is given to every member of the Returners, from the lowest newcomer to the leader himself. It is a sign for any member to identify another by. You have seen the symbol? A sword wrapped with roses? It's a symbol for peace, the laying down of arms. That's our goal, to stop this war, to keep innocent people from being ruled against their will, to stop their slaughter. Each member is a rose, dedicated to peace. But a rose also has thorns. A rose can fight back."

Terra's mouth gaped, and then she said, "Opposed to the Empire…but I'm a soldier of the Empire!"

Locke shook his head vehemently. "That's not true! They were using you, against your will! Things are different now!"

Terra shook her head, looking at her hands. "I don't understand…what should I do?"

Locke stood up straight from his leaning against the doorframe, putting his hands on her shoulders. She looked up at him. "I can't tell you what to do. You don't have to decide right now. You'll soon find your own way…" Locke smiled, and then said, "I'll leave you to get some rest." He turned and left, closing the door behind him.

Terra looked at the closed door long after Locke had left. "But how will I know which way is right?" she whispered, softly.

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"Brother, what's wrong with father? What's all this talk of his successor?" said the youth in front of him, like looking in a mirror except for the way he wore his hair, a short pony-tail instead of the long braid Edgar was given to. He was a slender lad of fifteen, a book propped open on the table behind him where he had been reading, dressed in fine cotton and silk. They were in the great library, the book lit by a small lamp set on the table, the rest of the room in darkness except for them.

Edgar turned away from the lad, tears suddenly welling up in his eyes. He was fifteen also, but he was more observant than his brother. "Are you blind?" he asked harshly. "Haven't you seen how thin his face has become?" His voice broke, and tears streamed down his face silently.

Edgar could feel the youth take a step towards him from behind. "What is it brother?" the youth asked, concern and panic finally tingeing his voice. Edgar shook his head and broke into a run, away from him, away from the light, leaving the library as fast as he could. "Brother!" shouted the boy, but he was long gone now, running down the endless black corridors of the castle, running, running, running—

Edgar awoke with a jolt, his hand slipping from beneath his head where he had been leaning on the table, soundly asleep, various maps and papers arrayed before him. He was in his bedchamber, dressed in his underclothes, the light of a single lamp illuminating what lay before him, a pool of light in a sea of darkness. He shook his head, clearing it of grogginess, looking down at the plans. He couldn't afford grogginess. The castle's chocobos had been armored, but they couldn't afford open war with the Empire. They could only defend themselves.

Edgar smiled ruefully. That they could do without much effort, when it came down to it. The Empire didn't know what they were dealing with here, the best kept defense of Figaro castle, designed by him, personally, when he was nineteen, two years after he had taken the throne. That was when the Empire had first approached him with an offer of alliance. A boy king on a weak throne. Easy prey. Or so they had thought. He had already given the orders to the head engineer in the basement to throw the switches if the time came. They'd retreat like a turtle into its shell.

Edgar stood, stretching his arms above his head, ready to retire to his bed. Then a sudden boom startled him, a sudden shouting from above. Another boom came, actually shaking the firm foundations of the building. Dust sifted down on his head. He coughed, struggling to the door of his chambers, throwing them open. The entire castle was filled with shouting now, screams of terror and pain. He could hear the whooshing crackle of flames as he tore into the smoke-filled hallway.

A soldier ran past him, bared sword in one hand and a bucket of water in the other. Edgar hailed him, and he quickly returned, panting. "What's going on!" Edgar demanded of him.

"It's the Empire! It's Kefka! Magitek Armor is trying to torch the place, blow it to smithereens! The front gates are holding so far, but they're battering them down as we speak!" Edgar quickly nodded and dismissed him, running back into his chamber.

He quickly threw on a quilted leather jerkin and pants and began pulling on the lacquered green and blue armor on the stand, pulling on his boots, fastening the ties of the chest-plate and greaves deftly despite his hurry, pulling the metal shoulder guards over his head, sliding on the steel-backed gauntlets, throwing the cape around his shoulders. He pulled the sword from the wall, running his sword belt through the loops and buckling it around his waist. He picked up the strangely-designed crossbow, another invention of his, and slung it over his shoulder by the strap, a quiver of bolts over his other shoulder, tightening the straps' buckles tightly to keep them from moving. He went to his closet and threw the door wide, reaching back behind the robes and kingly clothes there, his hand wrapping around a metal haft.

He pulled it out, holding it in both hands, a steel pike, its foot-long head gleaming in the lamp light, sharp as a razor. His hands fit the grooves of the hand grips perfectly. He had forged it himself, for his height and arm-length. He knew it even better than he did the sword. He whirled it in his hands suddenly, it flashing in the lamp light, and then he stopped and pounded it on the ground once. Then he turned and marched out into the screaming and crying of his people. The Empire would pay, maybe not on this night, but he would not rest until they did. In full.

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Terra awoke from a troubled sleep to screaming cries, pain and death, shouts and curses, loud booms and the crackle of fire. For a moment she did not realize she was awake, it was so like her nightmares, but she quickly bounded from bed, pulling on her clothes and boots, tying them. She was almost done with the left's strings when her door bounded open, Locke with a harried look on his face, yelling, "Come on! The Empire's attacking! We have to get out of here, now!" She jumped up and quickly grabbed her things from the pegs, grabbing at her package, now done up with rope, a loop hanging free. She threw it over her shoulder and ran after Locke, out into the smoky corridor. She gagged and coughed, but it wasn't too bad. She could breathe. She suddenly remembered the square of cloth she had used to cover her hair, laying on the nightstand beside her bed, but it was too late to go back for it now.

"Where are we going? How are we going to get out of here?"

Locke turned to her and grinned, his white teeth showing brightly in his grimy, soot-covered face. "Me and Edgar devised it last night. A quick trip with a sudden stop at the end. You should be able to handle it."

--------

Edgar slammed his pike into the shoulder of the Imperial trooper at the top of the siege ladder, the point slipping underneath his shoulder guard and cutting through the thick leather of his green uniform like butter. He screamed and let go, falling through the air to land in the thick sand at the base of the walls, dust flying everywhere, his cry cutting-off instantly. Edgar gave a mighty heave on the ladder and it fell backwards, carrying the Imperial troopers still on it to their death.

Magitek Armor sprayed fire at the walls, exploding huge chunks of stone from them. He was fighting the Imperial troops on the colonnade, but soon they'd be surging in through the front door. His soldiers were holding their own against the siege-ladders, both here and at the sub-keeps, but when the main gate fell, the Magitek Armor would soon be maneuvered to it and they'd impregnate the fortress, tearing it to pieces. The gate gave another mighty heave, cracking and splintering, the metal braces' bolts popping under the strain. He noticed that the Imperial troops had abandoned their ladders, running to the front of the castle. He turned to his soldiers, the seven that remained from the original ten that had been fighting with him here. Their three compatriots had been pulled inside, their eyes closed in death.

"It's time to initiate the defenses. Tell the engineer." A soldier ran to obey him, slipping through a side-door that would lead him to the engine room beneath the fortress, the main way being blocked by the enemy. "The rest of you leave. Get inside. Now!" he barked, at their hesitance, but they obeyed, running inside, slamming the doors shut and barring them. He shouted across to the other ramparts of the sub-keeps, and he was obeyed. Imperial troops swarmed up their ladders to follow them inside, but the heavy doors would hold them at bay long enough. Edgar turned to face the splintering gate, spear at the ready.

Suddenly the splintering ceased, a loud cry from outside screaming, "Enough of this!" The doors suddenly exploded inward, wafted on hot air and flame. Edgar jumped backwards as they fell, crashing to the floor, rubble from the surrounding wall collapsing atop them, bodies of Imperial troopers splayed all around, their flesh blackened and charred.

Kefka stood in the entrance, hand upraised, five troopers in brown uniform at his back, eyes wide with fright. Flames danced in the stone rubble and wood shards around him, giving his eyes a hellish gleam as he strode forward. Edgar stared at him. He had killed at least a dozen of his own men. The man was truly out of control.

Kefka's face was split in a wide grin, his gleaming eyes adding to his aura of madness. He cackled loudly as he stopped before Edgar, just out of reach of a thrust of his spear. He spoke, his voice dripping with cruelty and delight. "Bring me the girl. Now!"

Edgar shook his head, ready to jam his spear into the man's throat, but Kefka's utter calm disarmed him. Kefka could…he had blown the door open himself. It had not come from a machine. Edgar didn't think he could win against him alone. It would do his people no good if he died here. Especially when he didn't have to fight him at all. He smiled, and it was Kefka's turn to be surprised

"I don't know what you're talking about, Kefka," Edgar said, easily, standing up straight and then leaning on his spear, as if making idle conversation.

Kefka's smile returned. "Still refuse to cooperate? Well, then…welcome to my barbecue!" Kefka laughed, throwing his head back, howling at the sky.

Edgar struck. In one movement he tossed his spear behind him and reached around, pulling his crossbow down, lifting it, and aiming. He pulled the trigger, again and again. The auto-crossbow, he had dubbed it, the spring inside driving the bolt forward and then propelling backward, a catch popping another bolt up to replace it. He fired six bolts, emptying the entire clip.

Kefka's eyes widened in surprise, and he threw his hands up in front of him, a glow suddenly surrounding him. A bolt slammed into this light, and rebounded off of it, but the force knocked Kefka off his feet, and he went sprawling. His five troopers had no such luck, and each fell, clutching a razor-tipped shaft protruding from his face, his throat, his chest. Edgar turned and ran, throwing the crossbow back up over his shoulder, bending to scoop up the spear. He ran to the entrance of the bazaar and turned left; jumping up onto the ramparts, his legs straddling the gap between uprights, each foot on a stone's top, as he peered down into the night, giving a loud piercing whistle. He could hear the sound of chocobo feet on sand, a soft whap-whap.

He heard Kefka's voice behind him, and he turned, pivoting on the stones of the rampart. Kefka stared at him, hatred etching his face. "No escape, Edgar," he intoned. "The Emperor wants you alive, but he doesn't care how many of your people die while trying to capture you. Changed your mind?"

Edgar shook his head, looking back over his shoulder. "I guess I have no choice…" he said, and then grinned. "Or maybe I do!"

A dust-cloud appeared below, illuminated in the fires, and he turned and jumped, his cape streaming behind him. He landed in the saddle of the leader of the three chocobos that came into the fire light, under the bridge to the sub-keep, lead lines running from it to its two companions behind it, also saddled.

He grabbed the reins with his left hand while grasping the spear in his right, sticking the butt to the stirrup and holding it upright. He guided the chocobo around the rear of the castle, rounding it and riding towards the other bridge. Locke and Terra stood there, Terra's eyes wide with fright and Locke's wide with excitement. They turned and leaped over the opposite side as Edgar rode beneath them, each landing in a saddle, Locke yelling, "Yahoo!" Edgar freed the lead lines as they grasped their reins, and they rounded the front of the castle, reigning to a stop in sight of the shattered main entrance, Magitek Armors already rumbling towards it.

Kefka stumbled over the bodies of his troops, lying in charred ruins in the doorway, walking down the steps, glaring at Edgar with a grin on his lips. Edgar leaned forward on his saddle horn, resting on his elbows, as if without a single concern, smiling. "Shameful that a king should flee, leaving his people behind to be slaughtered! How utterly delightful!" Kefka laughed, but it cut short as a huge steel door slammed down behind him, nearly crushing him. He stumbled forward from the doorway, whirling, to the sound of numerous other clangings as metal sheets slid over every exterior doorway and window in the castle. The banging of fists on wood became a dull clanging with a loud bang, the Imperials on the roofs thwarted by the sudden appearance of the metal.

A loud grinding began, the turning of numerous gears, and with a loud screech, the two sub-keeps slid towards the main, wheels inside running on the metal tracks of the bridges. The sub-keeps merged, an unlucky Magitek Armor and foot-soldiers too slow to get out crushed between the walls, the Armor giving way with a loud screech and burst of flame.

Kefka watched this with mouth agape, and the Magitek pilots had stopped as well, seemingly awestruck. Edgar spoke, and Kefka whirled to look at him. "You should have known, Kefka. Nothing can touch the people of Figaro. Nothing."

Kefka took a step towards them, anger blazing on his face now, raising his hand to burn them to oblivion. And suddenly he was sinking, in sand up to his knees, being towed under by the second. He struggled, falling forward, panicking, trying to get a handhold, a great suction pulling him under. A great cloud of dust washed over him. Figaro was sinking into the sands and pulling him along with it.

He finally met more solid ground, more rocky, hauled himself with all his strength, gasping for air, sliding forward on his stomach. He felt the suction on his legs ease, and he quickly stood and stumbled forward, running, gasping, and stopped, falling to his knees, covered in dust. He looked back at the castle, the tower-tops still visible, submerging into the sands. The sand around it was a watery mess, a quagmire, from where water-pipes had flowed into it for several minutes before sealing up, disconnecting from the castle. His troops floundered in the muck, screaming, crying for help, sinking, dying. The Magitek Armor was sinking as assuredly as the keep, only two mechs managing to struggle onto rocky ground. The others sunk with their screaming pilots into the quicksand, and then suddenly, as quickly as it had began, all was still. It was just him and the two mechs under the bright moon. And Edgar, thought Kefka, grinding his teeth. He pointed in the direction Edgar and the others were fleeing. "AFTER THEM! KILL THEM! CRUSH THEM! NO PRISONERS! I WANT THEM DEAD!" he screamed at the Magitek pilots, and they shifted into over gear, the mechs' clawed legs stomping over the sand in hot pursuit.

Edgar reined his chocobo around, Locke and Terra following suit, to face the mechs. Edgar winced at their size. This isn't going to be a picnic, he thought ruefully. He sawed his ride's reins as an icy blast was shot at him, and he barely avoided it. Frost rimed his face as it barely missed him, like an arctic wind, though it melted to water droplets swiftly. He quickly leaped down from the chocobo, slapping it to send it squawking away, and dodged a giant foot as he ran towards one of the mechs, leaving the other to Locke and Terra, the pilot trying to crush him. He dodged a pincered arm, clawing at him, and jammed his spear into the metallic joint of the arm, jamming it in place, and leaped back as another foot tried to crush him.

Edgar drew his crossbow and ripped the clip out, and then rolled as fire whooshed towards him. He came to a stop and clawed at his quiver, jamming bolts into the clip one atop the other, and stuck it back in, raising the crossbow and looking down its sights as the pilot turned the mech. The pilot's eyes widened in surprise, and he brought the un-damaged arm up to shield the cockpit, and slammed forward on the joysticks, charging Edgar. Edgar fired, once, twice, three times, and the Magitek Armor came to a rumbling halt, a bolt finding its mark in the man's face.

Locke dodged a sizzling bolt of electricity, the energy from its passing making his hair stand on end. Terra stood still, next to her chocobo, staring at the remaining mech, hands upraised and palms toward it, murmuring, deep concentration on her face. Sweat beaded her forehead. The pilot turned his attention to her, raising pincered arms, cannon charging, lumbering forward to crush her. "Terra, look out!" screamed Locke.

Suddenly a glowing aura surrounded Terra, and flame exploded around the mech, washing over it in waves, the pilot dying instantly, the fuel inside it igniting and exploding, the energy cells bursting and flaring brightly before dying down. The fire ceased as quickly as it had began, simply evaporating in an instant, and the Magitek Armor stood, a twisted, melted wreck.

Terra lowered her hands, taking a deep breath. Locke stared at her in awe. "That was…that was…" Edgar was dumbstruck, frozen in the act of wrenching his spear out of the Magitek Armor whose pilot he had killed. He finally forced the words out. "That was…magic. I've never seen it in action before now. Well, I think Kefka used it, but that was just…a firecracker compared to a bomb."

Locke shook his head, his eyes wide. "You really are a sorceress, Terra." Terra looked at him, a hurt expression on his face, and he raised his hands. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you."

Edgar strode over to them, his and Locke's chocobos' reins in his hand. "Come on, you two, we can't stand here all night. We ride east, to South Figaro." Locke nodded, grabbing his reins and swinging into the saddle. Terra mounted after a moment, followed quickly by Edgar, who flicked his reins. They rode off into the desert night, east, Edgar letting off a shout of "Bravo, Figaro!"

Kefka stared after them, disappearing into the distance, dust clouds illuminated in the moonlight, shaking, frustration painting his face. "Son of a bitch!" he cursed. "They'll pay for this!" He wiped some of the wet sand off of his sodden clothes, clutching himself, shivering. He stumbled off, starting his long trek back to the Imperial encampment on the southern coast. Let them go for now, he thought. Figaro will fall, and then Edgar will be ruler of nothing. Nothing! He chuckled, and then laughed, and then cackled loudly into the night sky, his mad laughter streaking the otherwise silent night.

-------

Edgar and the others looked back at the howls of laughter, but they quickly faded into the night, and with a shiver, they urged their chocobos into a ground-eating trot but which wouldn't tire them easily, heading south east. Locke shook his head as they trotted under the stars, side by side, Terra's chocobo in the middle of he and Edgar's. "This is great. It's open war, then, between Figaro and the Empire. Everything you worked to avoid has been for naught, Edgar," said Locke, regret in his voice. Edgar was silent, staring grimly ahead.

"That man…he's evil, isn't he? And mad," said Terra. She shivered. "I'm…scared…" she said, softly

Locke nodded, looking at her concernedly, twitching his reins to lead the chocobo around a large boulder in his path, and then replied, "Kefka Palazzo is the worst man I have ever seen. But he's behind us now. I only wish I could say he was behind us forever."

Edgar looked over at Terra, and spoke, "Terra, there's someone I'd like you to meet."

Terra continued looking straight ahead as Edgar continued, "Our mentor, Banon, the leader of the Returners, would certainly like to meet you. 'Magic' is going to be the key to winning this war."

"Magic…" whispered Terra.

"You have magical powers," said Edgar. "And Locke tells me that the Esper in Narshe apparently…reacted to you, is what the townspeople say, and what you could discern from your memories. Can there be some connection between it and you?"

Terra shook her head, replying, "I haven't the foggiest idea. It just seems…natural to me, that I have the use of this power…"

"But no HUMAN is born with the powers you seem to have, and…" Edgar pulled up sharply, reigning his chocobo to a stop. Terra had stopped, and was staring silently forward. Edgar rode his chocobo back to her, peering at her face, but it was hidden by the night. He sighed, and said, "I apologize. I'm apparently rustier than I could ever imagine." He relaxed a bit as Terra gave a small chuckle, and he smiled slightly.

Terra asked, softly, "What should I do?"

"I'm sure the Empire is going to come after you. If they get their hands on you, with the power you wield, the world's finished," replied Edgar, strongly. "You want to understand your own powers, right?" Terra nodded after a brief hesitation. Edgar continued, "Then I think we need to consult with Banon."

Terra sat, silently, looking down at her saddle horn. "Please!" asked Locke, pleadingly.

Terra nodded, finally, and looked up. "Okay. Take me to them, to the Returners."

Edgar smiled widely, and said, "Okay! There's a cave that leads to South Figaro, through the mountains. The Returners' base is beyond there, in the mountain range farther east, hidden in a valley." Edgar turned his chocobo, and the others set off with him, on their way again. Edgar shook his head, ruefully. "To think, now I am a Returner in truth and not just sympathy, exiled from my home by the Empire. But I'll return," said Edgar, boldly. "I'll return, and the Empire will rue the day they thought they could conquer the kingdom of Figaro."

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They found the cave entrance as the first of the morning's light peeked over the horizon, lighting the dark sands and illuminating the three riders as they dismounted beside a small shack built up against the mountain wall. They had reached the foot of the rocky, steep mountains during the night and followed them south until they had reached this small valley, laid out in an easterly direction. A Figaran soldier stepped out of the small shack, shielding his eyes from the sudden light, however small, and peered at them. He gasped as he saw who it was, and bowed deeply as Edgar walked up to him, leading his chocobo by the reins, followed by the others. The soldier's own chocobo and an extra tied to a railing along the one side of the shack squawked in greeting to their new-come fellows.

"King Edgar! What's happened? Where are you headed?" the soldier asked, hurriedly. "My watch relief never came, and I'm afraid I fell asleep…" he trailed off, sounding worried, but Edgar clapped him on the shoulder, smiling.

"Never mind that, my good man. You're doing your duty well. But I have troubling news," Edgar said, his smile disappearing. "We're at war." The guard shook his head, frowning at this news. Edgar continued, "We're going through the cave, and eastward to South Figaro. I want you to return to the castle and tell the others we're safe. They should have emerged from the sands by now. Then I want a consignment of two score troops to watch this pass. The castle is impossible to invade or lay siege to, but South Figaro could be open to attack at any moment. I think that we destroyed a large part of the attack force already on Figaran soil, but more will be on their way, and so far they've only landed here in the desert, by my reckoning, since they didn't come this way. But their eyes will soon turn to South Figaro, and although they can land on the southern coast the other side of these mountains, I don't doubt they'll try the backdoor first. So guard this pass with your life; you'll be the first warning for South Figaro." The man nodded, gravely. "Now go!" Edgar pushed him slightly, and the soldier ran to his chocobo and mounted quickly, riding back west towards the castle.

Edgar motioned to the others, and tying his chocobo to the railing alongside the other, proceeded towards the cave entrance, loosening his sword in its sheath and then gripping his spear in both hands. Terra and Locke followed quickly, Locke with a cautious grip on his dagger, and holding a lit lantern he had grabbed from the guard outpost. Terra looked at him, and then followed suit. She asked, "Are there monsters here?"

Edgar shrugged. "The cave is fairly well traveled, but there may be some. The main path is well-worn, but there is more to these cave systems than that. Some of them lead the whole way out a mile under the desert, some towards South Figaro, some north under the mountains."

They came into a large cavern, a wide pool fed by an underground spring bubbling up. Edgar told them the water was good to drink, and they all three bent for a quick swallow to help their parched mouths. Terra noticed some very large tortoises in the water as she knelt to drink, feeding on a few small fish and some cave lichen that grew under the water on the rocky walls, swimming placidly. One or two lay on a rock out in the water, their fins pulling them in and out of the water at will. There was another passageway across the water, a cleft in the rock walls, but it seemed too far to swim easily. And she doubted that was the main way to South Figaro. It must lead farther into the caves.

A turtle suddenly loomed right in front of Terra, and she jerked back from the water. She cautiously reached out and patted it on the head, rubbing its leathery skin. It nuzzled up to her hand, and then turned and swam back under the water. "The turtles are friendly enough," she said, aloud.

Edgar nodded, coming over to stand next to her, looking out over the pool. "Yes, they're tame, and they're fun to swim with. They're large enough to pull a man, you just grab ahold of their back fins and let them do the work, if you feed them a little something to get them to like you. Me and Sabin, my brother, used to sport with them in our childhood. Heh, Sabin's enjoyment was a little spoiled when one bit him by accident when he was feeding it. He wouldn't get in the water for months after that!" Edgar laughed. "I don't think he ever quite got over it. He was always a bit sensitive and fearful. Even though we were twins, he always looked up to me like a big brother…" Edgar trailed off, his face becoming sad. "I haven't seen him in ten years, and our parting was somewhat heated…"

Terra reached out and put her hand on Edgar's arm, sympathy in her eyes, and he looked down at her, smiling again. "It hasn't been too bad. I've received a few letters from him since then, telling me how he took up with a martial arts master in South Figaro, Duncan. He trains with Duncan and his son, Vargas." Edgar shook his head. "I can't believe Sabin's a fighter, now. He was always such a bookworm."

Locke plopped a stone in the water, watching the ripples, and said, "Well, now you'll get to see him again, Edgar." Edgar nodded, and gathered up his pike, and Terra stood and followed him with Locke.

A few twists and turns, and a long rock passage wide enough for five to walk abreast, smoothed by hand over several years, led them out of the caves, taking not more than two hours. Terra stopped and stared at the rolling plains below her as they came out into the sunlight, dotted with thickets and ponds, with several farms' fields squared out and already growing. The south coast was to their right, the waves crashing on a sandy shore, and the mountain chain to their left, continuing northeast, the plains of South Figaro encompassed in a large bowl up against the coast. It was a stark contrast to the desert on the other side of the mountains. She could see a large city in the distance, merging with the coast, several ships and jetties poking out into the sea, the Cobra of Figaro undoubtedly on the flying blue pennants on the city's wall that ran along the north of the city, though she could not make out the design on them from here.

"It's beautiful, Edgar," Terra said, awe in her voice.

Edgar spread his arms, looking out over the lush expanse. "South Figaro, the jewel of my kingdom!" he said, exuberantly, lowering his arms and turning to Terra. "It used to be almost as desolate as what lays across the mountains. But some crops grew, and our people farmed the land, and over the years my forefather's increased the irrigation, slowly but surely, and turned this waste into wonder. I plan to start projects to do the same for the southern parts of the desert that remains across the mountains in Central Figaro and what lies near Kohlingen. Or I did, but all my ingenuity and time have been spent facing down the Empire the past several years, and now I don't know if it will ever come about. But it is my dream to turn the desert kingdom into a fertile land for my people, or as much as is possible. What lies near the coast is probably all that can be changed in Central Figaro, but all of that near Kohlingen I have high hopes for, due to only being in a rain-shadow from the east." Edgar sighed, shaking his head. "I hope I live long enough to get it started." The others were silent, and they started walking wearily down the slight slope on a well-worn paved road, towards the bustling seaport city.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

They trudged along wearily for the few miles along a wide paved road that sprouted off several smaller like a stream's tributaries, leading to even lesser roads of dirt, all connecting the various farms and homesteads to this main pass. The city loomed larger by the minute, a large manor-house's top floors peeking above the wall that surrounded most of the town, at the north-west corner of town, only the dockside entirely open, although with a low sea-wall for stormy weather that the plank docks were built right over.

Only a few ships were in at dock. Edgar pointed one of them out as the ferry that carried passengers regularly to Nikeah, a port city farther east that was considered the nexus of the kingdoms of Figaro and Doma, where the cultures came together. It held itself independent of either, but at the same time reliant on both for protection, which was gladly given. Peace had reigned pretty steadily for two-hundred years or more, with only a few border disputes peppering history, until the Empire had been established on the southern continent. Now the peace was broken, perhaps irreparably, due to Edgar's connections with the Empire. Doma openly opposed the Empire, and were currently in a state of war with them.

Edgar spoke to the others as they came into the city proper, past the local chocobo stables and into a large, northerly street with low houses and a few shops, the northern end of the road dominated by a small square in front of the manor with a fountain and a few park benches, the southern turning a corner towards the docks.

"I'd prefer to stay unknown while I'm here," said Edgar to Terra and Locke. "The Empire doesn't know my whereabouts, and I'd like to keep it that way. I will speak to my vassal here up in the manor house, but in secret later this evening," he said, flicking his head in that direction, and then continued, "We'll get rooms in the inn and start for Mt. Kolts in the morning. I'd also like to speak to Sabin and his mentor while we're here. You two are free to look at the city all you wish on your own, of course."

Terra and Locke nodded, but Terra said, "I'll probably just stick around the inn most of the time we're here, Edgar, if that's alright." She didn't feel too many eyes watching her with her head of green hair, but she knew she was noticeable. Edgar nodded, sympathy in his eyes, and they walked south to the corner, and turning it came to the front of the inn. It consisted of two large buildings with an inter-connected top floor crossing the street running underneath it, and was made of beautiful redwood and had red tiles on the roof.

"Let's get some rooms, and then we can wash the dust from our journey and have a few hours of relaxation," said Edgar, as he led them into the inn. The clerk at the long counter with dozens of keys behind it was happy to give them rooms overlooking the docks and the ocean.

"Not too filled up, although that may change if Nikeah gets overfilled with refugees from Doma and they start to come here," said the large, balding innkeeper, shaking his head. "I didn't agree with King Edgar's decision to dedicate peace between Figaro and the Empire several years ago, but it seems to have paid off now." Edgar's mouth thinned, but he remained silent as the innkeeper led them up the stairs behind him to the top floor, still speaking. "But I don't agree with them waging war on Doma, either, even though I'm a veteran of the Mobliz Plains. That was thirty years ago, and all in the past. We could aid them, form an alliance, if not for the treaties already in effect. Still, perhaps it would still fail, and then both nations would be under the reign of the Empire. Perhaps it is better for some to remain free, as long as they can. But that is only what my head says; my heart says differently."

Edgar finally spoke as they stopped in front of the first room they had rented, the innkeeper working the key in the lock. "The head speaks of fact; the heart, truth. Do you know what I mean?"

The innkeeper smiled and nodded as he swung the door open and continued down the hall to open the next door. "Yes, I know what you mean. Leaders have to think with their heads, as much as they want to go by their hearts, unlike the individual," he said, swinging open the door to the room that Edgar and Locke would share and turning to them. "Well, there's not much I can do, anyway. I'm just an old man, and I was only drafted, never a career military man. Well, here are your rooms. I'll leave these keys with you, and if you need a spare just come to me," he said, handing the two keys to Edgar, who handed the one to Terra, and then he wished them a good day and walked back down the hall, turning before he went down the stairs, and saying loudly, "Oh, and the common room is just down the hall there a bit, on your right." He went down the stairs, and Edgar turned to the others.

"Well, Terra, go get settled in. Locke and I will meet you in the common room, if you wish to come."

Terra shook her head quickly. "No, no, I'm tired. I think I'll take a nap. You two go ahead without me." She turned and walked into her room, shutting the door.

Locke sighed. "She's too sensitive. She doesn't stick out as much as she thinks," he said. He leaned against the door frame as Edgar took his breastplate off, throwing it on the chair next to his bed, and tugged off the quilted jerkin he was wearing. Locke went to the basin on his nightstand and poured some water, washing the dust off of his hands and face, and then toweled them dry, continuing, "As long as she doesn't use magic, I don't think she'll stick out too much…"

Edgar shook his head, retying his boots after taking off the quilted pants he wore under the leg armor, revealing his normal trousers. "It's probably for the best. The Empire will be spreading her description far and wide, and Imperial personnel are still free to come to South Figaro, at least until I have Carter decree differently tonight. I have no doubt they're going to invade, but they'll want to get a hold of her first if they can and re-Crown her. I've been walking the dagger's edge with them for years now; the day had to come when open warfare would break out. In any case, the city will be alerted by Carter; if there is an attack, an attempted occupation, they'll be ready for it."

"Who is this Carter? Your governor here? He can be trusted?" asked Locke, quietly.

Edgar froze, peering down at his reflection in his wash basin, and then nodded his head fervently. "Carter can be trusted fully; his family has served mine faithfully for years. His father and mine were best of friends," said Edgar, firmly, washing his hands and toweling them dry. Locke shrugged, and followed Edgar out of the room, towards the common room doors. He closed the door behind them, as Edgar was re-buckling his sword belt; he'd left his spear in the room with his armor, propped up against the divan.

"I'm just saying, he seems to live very well, Edgar," said Locke, as they came into the busy common room, several wooden tables and chairs arrayed on the hardwood floor, all full, people laughing and slugging back large mugs of ale. One table was packed with several merchants, arguing over trade prices. He and Edgar wormed their way past chair backs and stepped over carelessly out-slung legs, coming up to the nearly empty bar. The reason that the bar was so empty while the rest of the room was packed was immediately apparent: a tall, silent man in black leather armor, his face hidden by a tooled leather carapace, also black, the only thing visible his eyes, stood stock straight at it, staring forward at nothing, an almost full mug of ale in front of him next to his gloved hands. A large black dog, of indistinguishable breed but assuredly vicious by the look of it, lay with its head on its paws by his feet, eyes flickering back and forth across the common room.

Edgar snorted as they came up to the bar, Edgar laying down a silver piece. As the bartender turned to fill two glasses of ale, he said easily, "Why shouldn't Carter live well, Locke? He's not an elected official. I pay him, very well, and of course his family certainly wasn't without a fortune to hand down to him. The town council said they'd rather just stick with the local sheriff than elect and raise taxes to pay another man to take care of governing affairs. Well, I wouldn't have any of that." Edgar shook his head derisively. "You give them democracy and they're too cheap to pay for it. Way of the world, I guess. Anyway, Carter's a good man. I've known him all my life." Edgar glanced over at Locke, who was staring at the black-clad man, still staring forward. Edgar nudged him, and Locke gave a start.

"Hey, friend, how are you?" asked Locke of the silent man, hesitantly, thinking it would be rude not to give some sort of greeting to the man, realizing he had been staring at him. He looked the type that didn't get much companionship. "Uhh…" The man continued to stare forward, silently. Locke frowned. Who did this guy think he was? Locke said loudly, "Hey! At the very least you could give me a response…" Locke took a step toward him, and suddenly a dagger had appeared in the man's hand, seemingly from nowhere, with only a flick of his wrist, and he was looking at Locke out of the corner of his eye.

That was all he did, merely stood there holding the dagger, but Locke took an involuntary step backward. The dog growled, head up and teeth bared. Edgar pulled on Locke's vest, whispering for him to stand back, and Locke went with him, saying quietly, "Quite the response, friend, see you later…" The bartender was standing as if frozen, the two mugs of ale in his hands, until with another flick of the wrist the man's dagger disappeared. He unfroze, and as if nothing had happened, although with a nervous clearing of his throat, he walked calmly out from behind the bar, following Edgar and Locke to a spot near the wall where they leaned. He handed the mugs to them, and then looked back at the bar, rubbing his hands on his apron, and then muttered something about a coffee break and went down the stairs at the back of the room that let out onto the separate street entrance for this pub.

Locke and Edgar peered at the man's back, still standing still, the dog having settled back down, eyes flickering again. Edgar quietly whispered to Locke, "That man seems vaguely familiar to me…" Edgar suddenly grimaced in disgust. "A bounty hunter. That's the one they call Shadow. An assassin, more like, but that's outlawed in Figaro, taking people dead. He can still hunt them and bring them back alive here, though, if that's what he's doing, though I'd rather keep all bounty hunting out of here. Too easy for them to say they were defending their life when trying to capture the subject, and had to put them down. Maybe he's just passing through. I hope he is." Edgar took a swig of his ale, and spat, "He'd slit his mother's throat for a nickel. He'd better be tracking a legitimate criminal if he's going to be doing it in my realm, or…" Edgar trailed off, suddenly feeling foolish. What are you going to do? he thought to himself. Reveal who you are to him, call down the town watch on him to take him and question him? If they even could. The man was a trained killer. Edgar shook his head. "I have bigger fish to fry." He set his empty mug on the nearest table for the barmaids to pick up, and then walked towards the stairs to the outside. "I'm going to see about Sabin, Locke. Don't get into any trouble here in Figaro, do you hear me?"

Locke grinned, and said, "On my honor, I'll behave myself, Ed. On my honor." Edgar sniffed, looking at Locke with mock severity, and then turned and wended his way through the tables to the stairs. Locke uncrossed the fingers of his left hand, behind his back, and set down his mug. Time to see what treasures lay in the patron's rooms.

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Terra rolled over, unable to sleep, lying fully clothed on her bed. Perhaps it was silly, to stay inside like this, but she couldn't stand the attention she got outdoors. She ran a hand through her hair again, that accursed hair. If only she didn't have such strange hair. But then again, if she didn't, she wouldn't be herself, would she? She chuckled ruefully. She wanted to be herself; the Empire had taken that away from her. She wanted it back. How could she complain about what she had gotten?

She quickly rolled off the bed, standing and looking in the mirror, straightening her hair, combing it into place. She wouldn't stay in here. Let people look; hopefully they'd seen stranger. She opened the door to her room, and went out into the hallway. Movement out of the corner of her eye made her turn her head, but it was just someone going into one of the rooms, down the corridor and on the opposite side. Someone in black. Locke? She shook her head. It couldn't be. Locke wouldn't go pawing through someone else's room here in South Figaro…would he?

Terra walked over to the door, which was ajar, and lightly pushed on it. It slowly creaked open, the gap between it and the frame getting wider and wider—

Suddenly, a black-gloved hand reached out from inside and grabbed her forearm, yanking her into the room. She turned as she fell, landing on her back, and a dagger was thrust under her nose. She shrieked, looking up into a masked face, only cold, flat eyes peering out of it. She stopped screaming, steeling herself, looking up at the man leaning over her, laying completely still. She put a defiant look on her face and said, sternly, "Who do you think you are, manhandling me, threatening me?" She fell silent as the dagger disappeared suddenly with a flick of the man's hand, and he rose up to his full height, which was quite tall. She glanced up at the sounds of light thumping to see a large black dog staring at her, padding across the floor before stopping a foot from her. It watched her, its dark eyes watching for any sudden movement.

The man crossed his arms, still peering down out at her, and then said, quietly, in a flat, rasping voice, "Don't come into my room. It won't need cleaning until I'm gone. Now please leave."

Terra sat up cautiously, trying to split her attention between the dog and the black-clad man, but neither moved, merely watched her back. She rose, dusting off her pants. She considered telling the man she wasn't a maid, angry, but stopped herself. She certainly didn't have any other excuse for coming into his room. Yes, it was best this way. Maid would do. She lowered her head, saying softly, if in a hard tone, "Yes, sir. I'll be sure to tell the others." She turned and left, quickly, and the man shut the door behind her.

She paused out in the hall, letting out a deep breath. She was scared and angry, but it occurred to her that the man hadn't sounded angry with her. He hadn't sounded like anything, actually. And he had said please, even if it had been in that flat tone. She took another deep breath, and calmed herself. She was alright. Still, she had been terrified for those few moments. Suddenly she realized that she hadn't even once thought of using magic to defend herself. She gave an exasperated sigh and walked down the hall towards where they had come in, the stairs to the innkeeper's foyer, mentally berating herself for a fool.

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Locke peered cautiously around the door-frame at Terra's receding back. He had jumped back against the door when Terra had entered the hall, afraid she had seen him leaving the room he'd been…exploring, but she had instead gone to the next door down from him towards their rooms and pushed it open, and been pulled inside by that Shadow character. He had been furiously thinking about how to get her out of there when she had come back out as quickly as she had gone in, the door shutting behind her. He had pulled back into the room until he heard her footsteps going down the hall quickly, towards the innkeeper's station. He let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, and stepped out into the hall, shutting the door behind him and relocking it. At least Terra had warned him that was Shadow's room. He certainly didn't want to go in that room, especially with Shadow in there. He walked down the hall hurriedly, in the opposite direction Terra had gone, back towards the common room and the outdoors. He'd catch up with Edgar. This inn was slim pickings anyway. That was why he didn't want to mess around in it anymore. Nothing to do with that Shadow character. Nothing.

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Locke wandered the streets of South Figaro, his mind automatically noting escape routes and alleys, looking for the hidden secrets of the place that would allow for easy leaving. He had trained his mind to do such, and it was almost impossible to stop. He noted a backdoor at the back of a house in the southeast of town, walking down a wide street, noting the front of the house, noting that if ever the street was blocked he could easily. If ever this street were blocked, he could cut through that house…he shrugged, wanting to stop doing it, but it came anyway. Another note of a secluded alley behind a pump-house that would cross the small canal at the center of town, a low wall that could be easily climbed in between another two buildings, a loose sewer grating that was in bad need of repair. No town could hold Locke if he wanted to leave, not that he'd ever need the information in South Figaro, he hoped. But it was possible, and it was better to be safe than sorry.

Locke reached the small house that was said to belong to Duncan and was about to knock on the door when it opened, Edgar coming out followed by an old woman with grey hair but with strong shoulders and a no-nonsense look about her. She gave a kindly smile at Locke, however. "Are you the one accompanying Edgar, dear?" she asked, and Locke nodded, surprised.

Edgar turned to the old woman, smiling. "Well, Madam, I'm sorry Sabin and your husband Duncan are out on a training exercise, but I'll probably be able to stop by and say hello to them at the cabin, seeing as how it's at the base of Mt. Kolts. Your son Vargas is with them, too, correct?"

The old woman nodded, hesitatingly, and then said, "I assume he is. He left in a rage when he found out Duncan had meant to leave him behind. Even I couldn't understand it, leaving Vargas behind like that. Said something about special training, alone with Sabin. I have no idea what it is, but Vargas always assumes the worst. He and Sabin got along most of the time they've been together, living like brothers, but Vargas was always a jealous boy. I'm glad, in a way, that the rest of my children were daughters. I don't know how many muscle-heads I could stand under my roof, but three are plenty!" she said, laughing.

Edgar smiled, replying, "Well, I for one can't believe Sabin has gotten buff, despite your telling me. I'll have to see it in the flesh for me to believe completely. Well, Madam, I'll leave you to your own affairs. Have a nice day!" He turned and motioned to Locke to follow him as Duncan's wife went back indoors.

Locke was glad that Edgar hadn't stayed around chatting; he had felt awkward, not knowing the woman and having no connection to her at all. She seemed happy enough, married to this monk Duncan. Happy, with the one she loved…Locke pushed such thoughts to the back of his head. He kept up hope he'd find the means to bring her back someday, but it was a distant hope, and he didn't have time for it right now. The resistance was what mattered now.

He suddenly realized Edgar was talking to him. "…and we'll come back to the inn right afterwards and collect Terra. I've decided to head for Mount Kolts tonight. With chocobos we'll get to the base of it by nightfall, and we'll stay with Sabin and Duncan and Vargas in their cabin. We can start over the mountain early the next morning. Hopefully Terra has gotten rested up, at least.."

Locke followed Edgar to the large manor-house that took up several square yards at the north of town. It was a two-story affair, mildly sprawling, with its own fenced yard, something that none of the other houses had, with a private stable. Edgar knocked on the door and gave his name to the butler who answered, who ushered them inside at once. Edgar asked him if Lord Carter was done with his evening meal and the butler assured him he was all finished and was sitting in his study upstairs, poring over some letters.

Walking up the stairs and into a long corridor, they almost ran into two small children, a boy and a girl, running around and apparently pretending to be Imperial Magitek pilots. Edgar grimaced at Locke, but smiled at them, and calling them over gave them each a silver piece. The boy thanked him assiduously, calling him "Uncle Edgar", but the little girl hid rather shyly behind her brother's back, peering out at them with a red face.

Edgar and Locke walked over to the study doors and knocked on them, and at a call from within, Edgar opened the left door wide and walked in.

Carter was an affable looking middle-aged man, with dark hair winged with white at the temples, and he greeted Edgar warmly with a hug, and shook Locke's hand. He led them over to his writing desk and gestured for them to pull up the two chairs facing it. "This is an unexpected surprise, Edgar. I didn't expect you until later this month. Is something wrong?"

Edgar was silent for a moment, and then sighed. "I'm afraid the worst has come true, Carter. The Empire has broken the treaty; they attacked Figaro Castle last night, in force, with Magitek Armor and armed troops. It's war."

Carter leaned back, staring down at the desk, looking numb. "War…here. In Figaro. Dammit, Edgar! The accursed Empire will tear us to pieces! Figaro will be ruined, ruined by war with them! Our way of life will be torn asunder."

Edgar shook his head. "We can't give up hope, Carter. I want it declared publicly that we are indeed at war, and that Imperial citizens are no longer permitted in Figaro. Any that are here at the moment must leave immediately. I want the town put on full-alert; we have to be prepared for an imminent attack. I'll leave it in your hands to get the soldiers prepared, Carter; I'm heading for the Returners' base now." Carter gasped, and Edgar slapped his hand on the table. "This is no time to be squeamish, Carter. Figaro is now openly allied with the Returners, and I want that made known publicly as well. And I want notice sent to Doma that the Empire has broken their promises to Figaro and we are now ready to ally with them against the Empire. I hope their honor will allow it, but even they must realize the danger to all of us fighting separately. Together, our chances of fighting back Gestahl will be doubled. The Empire has conquered half the world; we have to keep the other half out of their hands."

Carter nodded, sighing. "I'll handle it, Edgar. I'll send out the pigeons to Doma immediately, and get everything ready to defend the town. You can trust me." Edgar smiled, and stood up, shaking Carter's hand and clapping him on the shoulder, and then they left, Edgar apologizing for their haste and commenting on how much the children had grown. Carter accompanied them to the study door, and closed it behind them.

Carter stood, looking at the closed door for a few moments, his face unreadable, and then went to the desk, taking up a quill and ink and opening a long letter that he'd received three days ago. He looked at it, at the seal at the bottom and the signature, and then shook his head, sighing. He took a blank piece of parchment and set to writing the letter he would send by pigeon immediately upon sealing the envelope. But it was no letter to Doma.

Inform General Celes that the offer has been accepted, he wrote. When Imperial forces arrive, there will be no armed resistance to meet them. I give my assurances that the city will be taken with no need of violence and no need of combat. Only hasten; it is of the utmost importance the occupation take place immediately. All will go as you have requested. On my…

Carter paused, head down, staring at what he had written. A single teardrop fell onto the parchment, and he finished writing the sentence.

…honor. Sincerely, Lord Carter Gurst of the Desert Kingdom of Figaro, Governor of South Figaro. Let These Bonds Ne'er Be Severed But By Death.

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Terra had explored the various bazaars that had sprung up around town, along with several shops, but she hadn't had the urge to buy anything, and she doggedly refused to buy another piece of cloth to hide her hair. Fortunately, people didn't seem that aware of her hair color—people here must've seen far stranger things than green hair. Terra smiled to herself. Green hair doesn't make them jump, but if I attempted to use magic around them…

She found herself back at the inn as the sun was edging towards evening, and walking in found Edgar and Locke re-dressed for travel, Edgar in his armor with his weapons. Edgar strode up to her quickly, grasping her hand and bowing. "Terra, I'm sorry, but I've decided we must make haste. We'll travel to Mt. Kolts this evening and stay with my brother and his teacher. I grabbed this bundle from your room, is that all there is?" Terra nodded graciously as Edgar handed her the bundle that contained her riding dress, and then broke out into laughter. Edgar looked a bit bemused, but said nothing.

Twilight saw them dozens of miles east, into the wilds beyond South Figaro's farmlands. The last farms they had passed had had a stout wooden wall built around their main farmyards, the people working the fields outside but with easy access to the gates in case they were attacked by beasts. Now they were into the true wilds.

It was much more heavily forested here, and more often than not they were running under the shade of trees than across meadows and rolling hills. Mt. Kolts had become larger and larger in their vision as they neared it, and now as the sun was being fully eclipsed by the mountain range, the ground was already rockier and the great peak filled the whole of they sky in front of them. The pass was rather clear, like a large axe had sliced into the mountains ahead, though Locke said it didn't go the whole way, only part, and that much of the trail was inside caves and across rope bridges on Mt. Kolts.

They found Duncan's cabin just as true darkness was coming over the land, a small thing of wood and thatch that couldn't hold more than two rooms, if that, built up against a rock overhang next to the trail to the pass. There wasn't a single light on in the place, and the group stumbled over the uneven ground as they hurriedly stabled the three chocobos in the small shanty that had been built up against the one side of the cabin, Edgar forking a bit of hay from a small stack in front of the huge birds, before they entered the cabin tiredly

The door was unlocked, strangely, though Terra figured they wouldn't have to worry too much about bandits this far out in the wilderness. The ferry to Nikeah had made passage to Doma far less arduous than going through the Sabil Mountains, and hardly anyone came this way. Except apparently members of the Returners.

The cabin was deserted. Edgar shook his head, muttering despondently, "They would have to go camping up in the mountains tonight, wouldn't they?" He lit a few lanterns, wiping his hand off on his coat sleeves at the dust that covered them, and then peered around the single if rather large room, the three beds lined up against the back wall, the small table with a single pitcher filled with withered flowers—Edgar muttered something about them being Sabin's favorite—and the wardrobe that must hold the men's clothes—all covered in a thin layer of dust. Their footprints were clearly marked on the floor through the thin layer of dust, and only their footprints. No one else had been here. "They haven't been here in weeks, at least, I'd say…" Edgar trailed off, looking thoughtful, then shook his head again, saying, "Well, at least we'll all have beds."

They took the linens off of the beds and beat them soundly to knock the dust from them, and Terra sweeped some of the thick dust from the floor out the open door, and then seemed lost as to where she was to sleep. Edgar and Locke grinned at each other, making a small remark about a woman's privacy, and Terra crossed her arms, glaring at them, before they got up to nail a rope across from the wall to the ceiling between the bed closest to the side wall and the next over, and hung a blanket over it, allowing her a small bit of privacy for changing. Half the length of the bed could be seen, the lower half, but she'd be covered by the blankets when she was sleeping anyway. Edgar made a joke about how she should make sure not to peek over at them, but shut up at her glare with only a little muttering about her sense of humor.

The night passed without event, and the next morning they loosed the chocobos, to find their own way back to South Figaro, and started the hike up into the mountain pass, Edgar leading the way with his strange crossbow un-shouldered and with a wary eye looking around. Locke had his long dagger out of its sheath and loosely thrust through his belt, and Terra mimicked him. Abruptly Edgar halted and raised the bow, but didn't fire. Then he shook his head, peering forward at the pass in front of them, looking up the rocky walls. "Thought I saw something, but it looked to be a person, not an animal. Maybe it's Sabin?" He strode forward quickly, and Terra and Locke were hard pressed to keep up with him, but when they reached the spot he had seen there was no one there.

Edgar shrugged. "Probably just seeing things, I guess, unless whoever it was was in as big a hurry as us. I doubt they'd be trying to not be seen by us, though, especially if it was Sabin or his friends." Edgar let out a shout of his brother's name, but there was no answer, just his dim echo and the sound of the light wind whistling down the pass. He shrugged again and they continued on.

When they came to the end of this short pass it gave way into a large cave. They strode inside, and then Edgar stopped them suddenly with an upraised hand. It took Terra's eyes a moment to become used to the dim light that filtered into the cavern. There seemed to be a large rock mound in front of them. Suddenly Terra realized the mound was covered in large, thick, shaggy hair, and wasn't a mound at all. She stifled a gasp at what it was.

It was one of the huge wooly elephants that could be seen in Narshe, but its fur was brown instead of white, and Terra was sure that this one wasn't tame, either. Edgar put a finger to his lips to tell them to be quiet, and then started stepping softly, working his way around the elephant. Suddenly he froze. There was a man's figure in the shadows ahead of them, dimly outlined by the light from the cave's exit, but the man's face was indefinable. He gave the elephant a sharp kick and then dodged out of the cave. Terra caught a quick look at him, long black hair and a bare chest over baggy pants, and thick arms roped with muscles, but then he was gone. Unlike the huge problem they were suddenly presented with.

The huge shape of the hairy elephant soared up, nearly filling the cave. Edgar quickly grabbed her arm and pulled her behind him, out of the cave where the man had been, Locke pushing her from behind. The huge mammoth gave a loud roar and followed behind them, sharp tusks and crushing feet, chasing them out into the light.

A rope bridge was before them, crossing a huge ravine to where the pass continued through the mountains, but Edgar had them turn, running to their right along its edge, the path wending around, climbing up the mountain. "Don't want it to damage the bridge!" he said, gasping, clanking in his heavy armor. They dodged around a boulder and the mammoth passed them, sliding in the loose dirt before turning, ready to charge at them again. Edgar raised his crossbow and let loose, sending bolt after bolt into the mammoth's face. It roared, barely fazed, and ran at them again. They jumped aside as it ran into the rock, its long tusks splintering on the hard surface. It screamed in pain, and Terra suddenly realized Edgar was screaming at her to hurry up and do something. She quickly cleared her mind of her fear and concentrated, raising her hands in front of her, outstretched towards the roaring beast, already turning towards them, ready to charge, to crush them. She murmured, trying to hold her concentration as it ran at them, and then a sudden glow surrounded her and the huge animal was suddenly ablaze, flames appearing from nowhere, screaming and thrashing, falling on its side, suddenly quiet. The smell of burnt flesh and hair filled the air, and Terra gagged, letting go of her concentration. The flames ceased, but the animal's huge carcass still smoked—and stank.

Locke and Edgar both breathed simultaneous sighs of relief, and then looked at each other in a startled matter. Terra grinned, but the grin was wiped off of her face as she heard the bestial roars of more of the great mammoths, from further up the path, and the rough trampling of several feet actually shook the earth.

"Run for it!" Edgar yelled, and they turned quickly, running to the rope bridge. Edgar stopped as they came to the end of it, whirling and raising his bow, quickly reloading it to full capacity from the quiver at his side. "Get going!" he yelled, jerking his head towards the bridge at the others' indecision, but Terra quickly nodded and stepped out onto the bridge's rickety expanse, the ropes making a screeching noise as they were pulled taut. She began walking rapidly, forcing herself to ignore the bridge's groaning, staring straight ahead. Locke followed her, stepping nimbly over the wooden planks.

Edgar turned and started walking on the half-rotted planks as well, despite his decision that the other two should cross first to keep from straining the bridge, when he saw what was coming around the bend—three huge brown monstrosities and an unidentifiable number of babies that still made him look like a mouse, or at best a large rat. Terra looked back and yelped, and started running across the long bridge, unmindful of its protestations. The monsters came to the edge where the bridge met cliff—and didn't stop, crashing into one another and sending one of their number careening off into the ravine, smashing through the bridge like it was made of toothpicks, snapping it.

"HOLD ON!" screamed Locke as the bridge fell, fists white on the hemp ropes. There was a sudden feeling of weightlessness as they fell—and then a jarring crash as the bridge swung into the opposing cliff, knocking the wind out of Locke and nearly making him lose his grip. He looked up at the straining expanse to the top of the cliff where the bridge ropes were tethered, looking weathered and frayed already without all this weight on them. Terra had her eyes closed, mumbling incoherently, above him, arms hugging the wooden plank in front of her, and he looked down to see Edgar sweating, his arms shaking with all the added weight of his armor pulling him down, legs dangling in thin air.

"Terra," said Locke softly, and when Terra kept mumbling, eyes still shut, he said again, firmly, "Terra." She looked down at him, eyes wide, and he said, "Do you know any magic to get us out of this?" She shook her head, and Locke continued, "Well, then, you have to climb up. Okay?" She shook her head frantically, and he said, calmly, "Look, Edgar is going to fall if he doesn't move soon. So just put your hand up and grip the next plank up, and pull yourself. Okay? C'mon Terra. Please. Just treat it like a ladder." A ladder over a bottomless looking ravine, that is, he thought despairingly, but was surprised as Terra started to climb, eyes looking straight upward, bulging, but she was moving. He started doing the same, and Edgar slowly pulled himself up, getting his feet onto firm planking, breathing a sigh of relief. Which turned to a grunt as he saw what was happening up at the top of the bridge.

There stood the man who'd kicked the elephant, smirking, his arms crossed. He was a younger man, not any older than Edgar, surely, dressed in baggy blue trousers held up by a sash, his long black hair held back from his face in a ponytail. He was bare-chested, his arms thickly muscled, and he smiled as he reached out and grasped the straining, frayed rope to his left and snapped it with a twist of his wrist.

Edgar lost his grip with his left hand as the bridge lurched and twisted, but instead of grabbing it again he un-shouldered his crossbow and held it, one-handed, pointing upwards. Terra had frozen in mid-climb, and he shouted, "Keep going, Terra!" She quickly started pulling herself up again as Edgar leaned out and fired, the metal bolt whizzing past her head. The man jerked his head back as it barely missed him, and cursed and jumped back out of sight as Edgar fired twice more, the second bolt cutting a large gouge in the man's cheek.

Terra quickly covered the last few feet of planking, scrambling over the lip of the cliff and pulling her dagger, facing off to the man who merely stood there, smiling, his arms folded, blood running down his face from the cut on his cheek. Movement behind her told her Locke had been right on her heels, and he flanked her, pulling his dagger free as well, and a few moments later Edgar was there, as well, crossbow raised and ready to plant a bolt between the man's eyes.

"Sabin sent you, right?" asked the man, sounding amused. His eyes seemed flat, somehow, glazed. "He's been following me all over this mountain for days now. He never was one to take an unfair advantage, crying out for me to 'Face him' and such. I laughed at him. But now I see he's hired you three to help him. Or are you friends?" The man put a hand to his chin, considering Edgar. "You look his exact double, except scrawnier." Edgar raised his eyebrow incredulously and Vargas laughed.

"Who're you!" asked Locke, heatedly, at the same time as Edgar said, "Sabin? Is he here? What have you done to him!"

Locke said, "You were shadowing us earlier! Trying to kill us!"

The man laughed again, shoulders shaking with laughter. "Brilliant, wasn't it? Catching you all off-guard like that. How unlucky you are to have run into me…prepare to die. All of you."

Edgar fired, but the man jerked his head slightly, the bolt missing him, and he surged forward, covering the ten feet between them in an instant, lunging forward on his right knee and rising, driving his palm into Edgar's chin and snapping his head back. Edgar fell to his knees, groaning. Locke slashed at him with his dagger, and Terra was astonished at Locke's alacrity as he ducked under a spinning kick from the man, but the man's other foot came up as soon as his other had touched the ground and took Locke's legs out from underneath him, sprawling him on his back. The man's foot came down, hard, on Locke's chest, and Locke doubled up, gasping, all the wind knocked out of him.

Terra raised her hands, prepared to burn the man to a crisp—and suddenly he was there in front of her. She had time to wonder how he moved so fast before he backhanded her across the face, making her spin and fall to her knees, breaking her concentration for her spell. She tried to form the thoughts again, but her head was spinning, and everything seemed hazy. She shook her head, on her hands and knees, and then grunted in pain as a sharp jab of the man's foot took her in the side, knocking her over. It hadn't been too strong, not enough to break any of her ribs, but it had hurt badly. She looked at him through squinted eyes, smiling down at her. His flat, emotionless eyes made her shiver despite herself. "You're a pretty thing," he said. "I hate to hurt a lady, especially one as exotic as you…" He bent over, lifting some of her hair with a finger. She glared at him, trying to form a spell, but the pain in her side kept her thoughts from forming properly.

The man smiled wider, and then straightened at the sound of falling pebbles and a loud thud, behind him. He turned, smile gone, looking at the man who was now straightening from his leap from farther up the mountain-side. He was a hugely muscled man, like him, a blue tank-top over his broad chest, white, baggy pants held up by a sash. His blonde hair was pulled back in a short pony-tail, and the growth of several days' unshaved beard speckled his face. A face that was an almost exact mirror of Edgar's.

The new come man spoke, his deep voice sounding loudly in the stillness. "Give it up, Vargas. I'm the one you are to face." The man shook his head, his face looking as if it was carved from stone, all planes and hard angles, but a hint of sadness was in his voice as he spoke. "Why'd you do it, Vargas? How could you do your own father in like that! Sneaking up on us and shoving him into that ravine…why?"

Vargas sneered, growling, "Fool! He made the mistake of choosing you as his successor, Sabin! He snubbed me, his only son! That's why he brought only you out here into the wilderness. I know it's why! It's what his master did when he chose him!"

Sabin shook his head. "No! You were the one he chose!"

"Liar!" screamed Vargas, spittle on his lips.

"Our master wanted you to be his successor, not me. He appreciated your fine spirit. He brought me out here to train me so I could be your opponent in your final testing—"

"Enough of your lies!" screamed Vargas, cutting Sabin off. "Have a taste of my superior technique!" Vargas rushed forward, punching at Sabin, who blocked it only to duck another, and then fended off a kick to his head with an elbow. He jumped back, and Vargas stopped, grinning. "Ahh, Sabin, the master taught you well!"

"I guess there's no avoiding this…" said Sabin, regret in his voice, and raised his hands, moving into a fighting stance.

Vargas mimicked him, saying, "Fate made us train together, and fate will send you to your doom." Then he rushed forward.

Their movements were lost in a blur of motions, punches, kicks, blocks, counterattacks. Terra could scarcely follow it, a dance with a watery grace and a fiery edge. Then Vargas threw a punch at Sabin and Sabin ducked under it, smashing Vargas outstretched arm into the air, and then Sabin's hands truly were a blur as he slammed punch after punch into Vargas' torso, pummeling him, Vargas' frame shaking with each blow, and then Sabin quickly stepped back from him.

Vargas stood there a moment, as if frozen, a look of surprise on his face, and then fell forward onto his knees, blood pouring from his mouth, stretching out his arm and grasping Sabin's pant-leg, hoarsely gurgling, "What…what…he already…taught you…" Sabin bent down, tears in his eyes, and embraced the dying man, heedless of the blood staining his shirt, saying softly, "If only you hadn't been in such a rush for power, Vargas. We…we were like brothers, Vargas…why…?" Vargas' grip on Sabin's leg loosened, and his arm fell, limply. Sabin lay they dead man down gently on the ground, closing his staring eyes, now glazed in death, and then rose, looking down at him for a few moments before quickly trotting over to his brother and the others as they were struggling up to a sitting position.

Edgar was shaking his head and rolling his neck, grunting at the pain Vargas' blow had caused, but he grinned and stood up, quickly hugging Sabin to his armored chest. "Sabin!"

Sabin looked confused for a moment, and then smiled, asking, "Big brother?" He returned the embrace, and Edgar stood back from him, looking him up down quickly, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I'm not the bigger brother anymore, that's for sure," laughed Edgar, and Sabin joined him. They turned as Locke and Terra stumbled over to them, Locke vociferously rubbing his chest and Terra rubbing her side. Suddenly a glow surrounded her, and she gave a sigh of relief, and turning to Locke, placed her hands on him, muttering softly, and suddenly a glow appeared around him, as well, and he quit rubbing his chest, staring at his hand. "The pain's…gone. Was that…magic?" Sabin goggled at that, but Terra calmly healed Edgar's wounds in the same fashion. Sabin seemed hesitant at first, mumbling that he was barely scratched, but she healed him as well, he standing stock-still and stiff as a board until it was done. He thanked her with an amazed look on his face.

"So, the brothers are reunited!" exclaimed Locke, grinning, and Terra squinted her eyes at Sabin with a smirk and said, "Younger...'brother'? At first glance I thought he was some body builder that had strayed from his gym…"

Sabin's face reddened, and he coughed, saying, "Bodybuilder? I'll…take that as a compliment…" He flexed his arm, but stopped when Terra giggled, putting her hand over her mouth. His blush got worse if anything. He turned to Edgar, clearing his throat, and asked, "Anyway, brother, what are you doing here?"

"We're on the way to the…Sabil mountains…" Edgar hesitated, not wanting to tell his brother where the Returners' base was. It's not that I don't trust him, Edgar said to himself, but he has no need to know, and it has to be kept secret…Sabin's reply left him gaping.

"To the Returner's hideout, no doubt?" Sabin smiled at the incredulous look on Edgar's face, and explained. "I've been watching from afar, here training with Duncan, hoping the world might regain some sanity…Edgar, at this rate, Figaro will be reduced to a puppet state, led by their marionette—you. If you're lucky."

Edgar nodded, his face grim. "I know, but it's worse than you could know. The Empire attacked Figaro castle the night before last." Sabin growled, and Edgar continued, "It's open war between Figaro and the Empire now. That's why I'm traveling to the Returners hideout, to get support troops and also to…bring Terra to Banon." Sabin looked at Terra for a moment, thoughtful, his eyes glancing at her hair before returning to her face. Edgar continued, "Our time to strike back has arrived. The Empire's going to pay for what it has done!"

Sabin asked, "Think a bear like me could join you in your fight?"

"You'd…join us? Sabin…" Edgar fell silent.

"I think Duncan would rest easier if he knew his disciple played a part in bringing peace to the world," said Sabin, and Edgar nodded, finally, and put his hand on Sabin's shoulder. "But first…" Sabin looked at Vargas' body.

"I'll help you," said Edgar, and the two turned to bury Vargas' corpse together.

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Sabin shifted the last bit of dirt back into the hole, and started laying down the heavy rocks Locke and Terra had gathered on top of the mound, wiping his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand. When he and Edgar had finished, Sabin stuck the upright piece of wood that served as the grave marker in at the head, the name "Vargas, son of Duncan, a member of the Blitz Brotherhood" simply carved into the wood with Locke's pocket-knife. Sabin stood staring down at the grave for a few moments, finally saying, "He wanted to kill me, but…we were like brothers, Edgar, almost as close as you and I. You know?" Edgar nodded, putting a comforting hand on Sabin's shoulder. "He thought that Duncan had chosen me instead of him. All my life I've run from the responsibility of power. Even had Duncan chosen me, I would've refused. But now…now I am all that is left. I am Duncan's successor, not by choice but by fate. I am the only one left who knows the art of the Blitz, to pass it on…"

"Let's get going. There's not much light left…" said Locke, hesitantly, not wishing to pull Sabin away from the gravesite, but Sabin nodded, still looking down at the tomb.

"Yes, let's go." I will go on, Sabin thought. I am all that is left. I cannot shirk this burden. Slowly they filed away, into a cave that furthered the path through the mountains, where they would spend the night before traveling on to the mountain valley that hid the Returners' base.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The pen scratched softly and deftly on the parchment, the white-haired old man's eyes flickering back and forth as he wrote, the paper held down by his other hand, adorned with a silver ring. His face, covered in a full white beard, was strangely ageless looking, though the hair belied its youthfulness, and tiny wrinkles crinkled at his eyes. His long green robes, looking suitable for casual wear though stitched with gold embroidery for formal occasions, was belied by the hard leather tunic worn over them, boiled to turn away arrowheads and the knife of many an assassin.

The room had been hollowed out of the living rock of the Sabil mountains and slowly the walls had been smoothed so that one could barely tell it was a cave. It was lit by the slightly guttering candles strewn about, the lack of oxygen somewhat negated by the air vents the Returners had carved but still low enough that getting a good flame going was difficult. It had a homely manner, containing the man's bed and dressers and numerous bookshelves, as well as his writing table.

The pen stopped suddenly, the man's head coming up as he heard a rush of excited talking outside the room. He stood, glancing at a quarterstaff lying propped against a cabinet, but left it where it was and opened the door leading to the main council area, lit by lanterns to dispel the dark of the caves.

The voices suddenly quieted. The mass of people in front of him were mostly of similar garb, many men and a few women in the dull-brown combat fatigues and leather armor of the active warrior units, with a few non-combatants in normal everyday clothes. Not a single one dressed for combat wore the silver ring the white-haired man wore. If it were to be connected with the Returners, the rose-entwined sword would become useless and dozens of undercover sympathizers would be compromised, doomed to capture, torture, and finally death by the Empire.

They were all gathered around three men and a strange woman. The blonde-haired man in armor and travel-stained cape, the twin of the hulking man next to him, turned as the white-haired man approached, a smile breaking his face. He strode forward and enveloped the white-haired man's hand and shook it briskly.

"Banon!" Edgar exclaimed, grasping the white-haired leader of the Returners' shoulder with his free hand.

Banon smiled. "Edgar. I'm glad to see you, though it must mean something dire has happened if you have come here in person instead of using Locke as usual." Banon nodded to Locke over Edgar's shoulder.

Edgar's smiled faded. "The Empire attacked Figaro a few days ago. The treaty is broken, and it is being publicly proclaimed that Figaro is now openly allied with the Returners. I've made arrangements to talk with Doma, as well, as soon as I can travel there. It'll be open war, now, Banon."

Banon merely shook his head, face turning grave, and looked at the strangely green-haired woman standing next to the blonde-haired hulk, clad in a purple riding dress that looked worse for wear, awkwardly ignoring the gawking of the soldiers around them. "Your brother, I can surmise, Edgar, but could this be…?"

Edgar nodded, turning and guiding Banon over to the green-haired woman. "Banon, we brought the girl with us. Her name is Terra Branford."

"Is she the one who can speak with Espers? The magic-user we've been hearing about?" Banon asked, gazing steadfast into the woman's eyes. She awkwardly looked at the floor.

"The Empire had complete control over her with a Slave Crown, Banon." Banon tsked as Edgar continued, "She can't remember much because of it, all her time in the Empire and before. She can't even remember the attack on Narshe."

Banon pursed his lips thoughtfully, a finger to his chin. "Carrier pigeons brought word six months ago that she wiped out fifty of the Empire's best soldiers in only a few minutes time."

Terra's head snapped up, her eyes glaring. "That's a lie!" she snarled, and then suddenly put a hand to her head, as if in pain, and her eyes grew wide with startlement. She turned away suddenly, pushing her way through the throng of soldiers.

"Terra!" yelled Locke, walking after her, and Edgar exasperatedly said, "Banon, she doesn't remember ANYTHING."

"Stay where you are," said Banon firmly, and Terra paused in her flight, her back still turned. The soldiers silently stepped back and cleared a path between Banon and her as Banon strode forward, stopping a few paces from her.

"Perhaps you've heard this story," began Banon, softly, but his voice carried through the silent, still chamber. "Once, when people were pure and innocent, there was a box they were told never to open. But someone went and opened it anyway. He unleashed all the evils of the world: Envy…Greed…Pride…Violence…Control…all that was left in the box was a single ray of light: Hope." Terra stood stock still, her back still turned towards him, staring at the floor. "We now confront those evils…and you, Terra, you are that last ray of light, our only hope…"

"Banon…" said Edgar, shaking his head, more exasperated than before.

Suddenly Banon turned, striding towards his room, his head down. "I'm so tired…" he said, wearily. "Let me rest. You all should rest as well, and refresh yourselves from your journey…" He closed the door to his chamber behind him.

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The soldiers silently dispersed, casting glances at Terra as they went back to their guard posts and labor, except for one who stayed to lead the party to their rooms. None of the others spoke to Terra, didn't even glance at her, for which she was glad, though the silence grew awkward. Edgar and Sabin were given rooms next to each other, Terra and Locke rooms next to each other directly across the hall. Sabin joked to Edgar about how Edgar wouldn't be used to such a humble abode, and Edgar jibed back that the Returners' hideout must seem a mansion next to the rock Sabin had been living under for the past decade. They disappeared into Sabin's room, Sabin regaling Edgar about the virtues of solitary meditation.

Terra stopped Locke at his door. He hesitatingly met her gaze as she spoke. "Locke…I…what do you think?"

Locke spread his hands. "Banon can be…passionate, Terra. That's why we all follow him. Like I've said before, it's your decision to make. We can all understand if you don't want to fight."

Terra shook her head, looking away, and then looked back at Locke. "Why do you fight, Locke? You seem like such a free spirit."

"Someone…important to me was killed by the Empire. I've hated the Empire ever since…" Locke said, quietly. "I joined the Returners when I realized the Empire is rotten to its very foundations, the threat they are to the whole world. I wanted to make a difference."

"But I have no 'significant other' in my life…" said Terra, shaking her head.

"That's not entirely true," said Locke, and Terra looked at him. He quickly looked away and said, "Besides, I'm sure there are people who feel you're important to THEM. They're counting on you…"

Terra nodded, and said goodbye to Locke, walking into the room that had been prepared for her and lying on the bed. She extinguished the guttering candle flame from there, the power briefly surging in her as she snuffed it, and then she lay in the darkness, pondering over the scenes that had popped into her head when Banon spoke to her…

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Terra gasped, taking ragged breaths, crashing through the jungle overgrowth next to the strange woman next to her. They had to escape, but they couldn't follow the Empire's railroad lines, the only paths through this thick wilderness that stretched for a hundreds of miles between Vector and Tzen. They had to get there, had to get a ferry to Figaro, get as far from the Empire as they could.

She'd met Shiva only a few days before, when she went to the Magitek Research Center against all commands of the man she'd been calling father for the past eighteen years of her life. And there, she'd found this strange being, being moved from a stasis cell shielded magically to a strange machine that would leech away her powers. The woman was human in appearance, but her skin was a beautiful sapphire-color along with her hair, reminding Terra of her own unique hair, and her beautiful face was frozen in a mask of weariness and weakness. Terra had stopped near her—and suddenly, latent memories had sprung forth, a strange feeling had entered her, like the power she had access to, what her father and all the others called "magic", and she had felt a strange kinship with the beautiful young woman. Terra was shocked for a few moments as the memories flooded over her, and then she acted.

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What memories? thought Terra, tossing fitfully. Why can't I remember? What will jog them?

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Terra could hear the Magitek Armor smashing through the woods behind them, gaining with considerable speed. It was too far, they'd never make it to Tzen. If only Shiva had been able to use her powers, but she was weak, so weak, from what they had done to her. They had used her. Like they had used Terra, for so long. In her ignorance of the past, she had been the Empire's unwitting pawn, but she would be a pawn no longer! They'd have to kill her before she would go back.

Suddenly they broke into a clearing in the woods, and it was swarming with Magitek Armor and ground troops. They spied them and came running at them, unlimbering swords and shouting to capture them alive. Terra froze. No! They couldn't have her! She couldn't let them take Shiva…

More of the power surged through her than she had ever felt, more of this magic. Her vision became filled with a constant rosy glow, and she knew that she had…changed. The power surged through her, and she unleashed it. Everything became white, whiter than snow, and then all was darkness.

She stirred, opening her eyes to look at charred earth. She raised her head. All was devastation, for as far as she could see, a charred wasteland in the middle of the jungle. Trees were pushed flat and twisted and broken into a million pieces, interspersed with the smoking heaps of dozens of ruined Magitek Armor and the twisted corpses of Imperial soldiers. A large group of them was picking their way through the mess to her, though. She tried to raise herself up, but she was weak, so weak. She collapsed, groaning despondently. Shiva lay near her, apparently unharmed but unconscious. They had her. They had her, and there would be no escape after this. She wanted to scream, to fight, to beat at the soldiers as they trussed her up and transported her back to Vector, but she had no strength. She had no hope.

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Terra sat up in bed, gasping, and ran a hand through her hair. So now she knew why she had been enslaved. She had remembered something, something that ruined her love of the Empire, had made her free Shiva and betray Gestahl, her adoptive "father", and flee. But what that memory was was beyond her recall.

Now she knew that she really was a killer, a murderer. It had all been real, all of it. She had remembered something, fled the Empire, killed fifty Magitek Armored soldiers in a few minutes with some strange surge of magic, been captured, and put under the ministrations of Kekfa by Gestahl. Those villagers…, she thought. She suddenly felt sick. She didn't know how she had served the Empire before being Crowned, didn't know anything prior to her helping Shiva escape, but she had killed to escape, and even under the Crown's control, what she had done…what could she do? What could she possibly do to make up for what she'd done?

She washed in cold water, the pitcher having cooled while she slept, and then left the room—and immediately bumped into Edgar, coming out of his room clad only in his shirtsleeves. He made a quick leg and gave her a cheeky grin. "Terra! Are you refreshed?"

Terra nodded, and looked at the floor, and asked, "Edgar, what do you--?"

Edgar shook his head and cut her off. "It's going to be tough to talk you into helping us, Terra. If we push you too hard, we're no different than the Empire."

Terra smiled. "I wouldn't go that far, Edgar."

Edgar chuckled. "We just want you to make up your own mind, Terra. That's all. I don't want to push you either way. Banon, on the other hand…well, he's a born leader, and he isn't afraid to try and persuade you. Just remember, though, what he says may be a little biased, but it is the truth. When you speak to him again. You can take all the time you need. We're certainly not moving from here for a while. I myself need to plan my next moves, so you'll have to excuse me." He nodded to her and walked the opposite way, deeper into the caves.

Terra headed the other way, towards the main council chambers and the entrance, and came out into the large area. A large wooden table was arrayed with numerous chairs, all mismatched but sturdy, and several maps were hung on wooden brackets that had been spiked into the hard rock walls. They were somewhat complex, because she didn't know what the different colors stood for, but she assumed the red markers were the Returners' agents, since the place marking this headquarters was swarmed with them.

"That's a fairly up-to-date map, though the border with Doma should be a little farther to the west at this point, after the last treaty was signed by Edgar ten years ago," a voice said behind her.

Terra turned, realizing it was Sabin who'd walked up behind her. His face was freshly shaved and his blonde hair combed, tied back in a short ponytail that strengthened his already identical comparison to Edgar. Except for the huge muscles, of course. He certainly presented a much more handsome picture than he had. Terra took a mental hold on herself. It seemed natural for Edgar to go about professing his love for all the women he saw, but Terra prided herself on being far more reserved. She smiled at Sabin, though. What was the harm?

"Your brother seems to rule Figaro graciously, Sabin. He's certainly qualified, what with ending all the border disputes with Doma that have been going on for years, right?" Terra said.

Sabin came up beside her, and looked at the map. "Yes. He's a great ruler. I…I'm thankful to him."

Terra thought that was strange. The two had been estranged for all those years. She was wondering if she could ask him about it without seeming rude when Sabin continued, "You can trust my brother implicitly. He's always been fair with me. Our father wanted us to rule Figaro jointly when he died, but I rebelled against it, and Edgar ended up with all the responsibility himself. I left when Edgar made his deal with the Empire, but I've realized since then that it was all he could do. And he's rebelled against them in small ways, and I don't mean just in secretly joining the Returners. Look at this map, for instance." Sabin nodded at the map on the wall. "A firm, resolute border, a firm, resolute treaty, and an end to bloodshed. The Empire opposed peace between Figaro and Doma, you see. Obviously because with the two bickering with each other it'd be far easier to snap them both up. But Edgar signed the treaty anyway. If Edgar had let old grudges continue, when the Empire finally betrayed him, an alliance with Doma would be impossible. Now, Figaro has a chance. You can trust him, Terra." Sabin suddenly looked abashed and scratched his head. "Just, uhh, don't tell him I said that, okay Terra?"

Terra laughed. "Not a word, Sabin. Not a word. Do you know where Banon might be at?" Terra looked at the door to his room.

"Banon? He went outside a moment ago." Sabin pointed, and Terra thanked him and left for the main entrance to the base.

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The wind blew, under a gray and cloudy sky, across the grass-covered fields and swaying forest that was in the valley, this long valley deep in the Sabil Mountains, cut off from civilization. The mountains formed a formidable wall to the east and west and south, and far to the north, where the valley widened out, a series of great lakes, fed by the mighty Lete River, blocked it off there as well. It was a true sanctuary from the outside world, and that was why the Returners had chosen to hollow out a place here.

She found Banon standing and looking out at the great expanse, looking at the clouds rolling in that portended of a great storm about to break, his cloak and long beard billowing in the wind. He seemed lost deep in thought, and Terra simply stood silently next to him, lost in her own reverie. They stood there a little while, simply feeling the wind.

Suddenly, Banon spoke.

"I talked to you, you know, when you were younger, when I was in Vector for one of those meetings of senate that Gestahl was still hosting at the time. It may have even been the last meeting of the senate. The war started that year. You probably don't remember me, of course. Even if you weren't suffering the effects of the Slave Crown, you were only four years old. And I have aged progressively, since then." Terra looked at him, eyes wide. This man knew her? Or had at least met her once. She had not the faintest recollection of him.

"It was at a dinner party, and Gestahl had brought you in from his countryside estate for a visit. His daughter, he said, though I doubted it highly upon seeing you. I remember asking you, as part of all the pleasantries one goes through with a small child, such as asking them how old they are, what you wanted to be when you grew up, and I remember you looking up at me very seriously and saying, 'I want to be a warrior like Uncle Leo.' And I replied, 'Ah, but wouldn't you rather learn to help people, or lead people, like we senators and your father?' 'No,' you replied, 'that's very boring. At the most I would like to help my Uncle Cid. He's a scientist, you know. He helps people.'" Banon chuckled. "I suppose it is ironic, now, that women are helping in fighting this war, and doing it well. A woman of your generation even rose to general in the Imperial army, General Celes. I met her at that party as well, and unlike you she said she aspired to be a singer! The lives fate weaves for us are often far different from how we thought they would go! You may have met Celes at that party, yourself."

Terra shook her head. "I don't remember any of those people, not really…"

Banon nodded. "Yes. You won't remember your life completely until you get a large shock to your system, I should think. They say that is what most often brings back forgotten memories." Banon looked back out over the expanse. "As I said, I was a senator at the time, though I suppose in my heart I knew that democracy was truly dead. It began to die shortly after Gestahl came to power. Our revolutionary efforts we began to help him come to power came to naught, I'm afraid, for our hopes were betrayed utterly by Gestahl and his totalitarianism.

"Gestahl's ascension was the peaceful revolution, the old leaders beaten in fair elections, and we began our democracy anew from where it had stalled and sputtered a decade prior, brought together the nations of the southern continent in an alliance, and raised our countries out of their economic torpor. We built our capitol in Vector, a shining citadel, dedicated to technology and advancement. But Gestahl betrayed us. The Republic became the Empire under Gestahl, and I left Albrook at the last second, before the purges began that ended the lives of almost everyone involved in any way with the 'old' way of things, that is, democracy and free speech, before Albrook and Tzen and Miranda were occupied by Vector's forces, and came to this small cranny in the middle of nowhere. And here we have started the new revolution, a violent and deadly one, here we defy the dark shroud that moves slowly over the world." Banon turned to Terra, outstretching his hand to her. "Have you made your decision, Terra? Will you become our last ray of hope to pierce that darkness?"

Terra stared out over the darkening expanse a bit longer, and then slowly nodded.

"You will? Really?!" exclaimed Banon, delighted.

"But...I'm scared, Banon. Not of the Empire, or at least not more than is wise. Of myself. I'll help as much as I can, but I don't know if I can fight…"

Banon shook his head. "Don't worry. If we all work together, we'll be successful. Never give up hope! I have a plan. Come. Everyone will gather in the main council room. We'll discuss our next course of action." They went back inside as the storm broke and the first of the drenching rain began to fall.

--------

Everyone gathered in the main council chamber, the regular soldiers gathering around the long oak table where Terra sat with Edgar and Sabin, along with Banon and his top leaders. Locke looked nonchalant as usual and had declined a seat at the table, standing against a support girder nearby, cleaning his nails with a pocket knife. Banon pushed his chair back at the head of the table and stood, and the soldiers who had been talking quietly hushed.

"Let us begin," said Banon. "We all know the Empire is using Magitek in battle. The power of magic is allowing the Empire's control to increase much faster than in the past fourteen years. They took the southern continent in only a year and a half when Gestahl first turned the Republic we had created into the Empire, but that was due to the alliances built up and the close proximity. He took them by surprise more than force. Since then they've gobbled up the southern nation of Jidoor, part of this continent, but it took five years, and then things were quiet for a time. Our hopes that Gestahl was sated were in vain, however, and now Doma is joined by Figaro as the nations at open war with the Empire. And I'm afraid that they will be summarily beaten back within the next few years by this might the Empire has discovered called magic. The point is, how has the Emperor created Magitek?"

"I had Locke look into the rumor that the Empire is forcing the world's finest scholars in the occupied nations to study Espers," replied Edgar.

"All the trouble in Narshe is over an Esper, too," chimed in Locke, still looking at his hands.

"You mean there is a connection between Espers and Magitek?" asked Terra, her confusion over why there was a machine for draining Shiva's strength becoming clearer.

"I can only recall one thing linking Espers with Magitek power, of Espers being linked with the human usage of magic."

"You don't mean…" asked Edgar, breathlessly.

"Yes," replied Banon. "The ancient War of the Magi."

The surrounding soldiers broke out into excited mutterings, and Locke said, "My grandmother used to tell me the stories at bedtime. Magical machines, the war that set the world back a thousand years…could it have been true?"

"Could that ancient tragedy be playing out once again?" asked Edgar.

"It's just speculation, but historical studies have provided a number of conflicting and frightening theories…according to one theory, humans and machines were imbued with powers drained from Espers."

"That could explain Magitek power…" said Terra, quietly. It was exactly like what that professor in Narshe had talked about.

"If we can only fight Magitek enemies with Magitek weapons…?" asked Edgar.

"It's risky," replied Banon, firmly, "but if we have Terra speak with that Esper in Narshe…it just might wake up."

"I wonder if that's wise?" asked Edgar, warily.

Banon shrugged. "Who can say?" he said, and then continued, "Regardless, we need Terra's help."

Locke shook his head, coming over to stand next to Terra, putting his hand on her shoulder. "Terra—"

"I'll do it!" said Terra, excitedly. Locke look flabbergasted, and Sabin snorted, muttering, "It sounds like she's enjoying this…"

Banon smiled broadly, and was about to reply when the sound of shouting drifted in from the entrance. "What? What's going on?" he asked, moving towards the entrance. The mass of soldiers were rapidly scrambling back to make room for two dull armored soldiers supporting and half-dragging a third. Blood was pouring from his side almost unabated from where it looked as if his armor had been ripped away by a strong sword stroke, and the left side of his face was crimson with burned flesh. One of the soldiers supporting him cried, "There's an emergency! Sir Banon!"

Banon dashed over, grabbing the young soldier, and quickly tore off his own cloak and lay it on the floor. He gently lay the wounded man down and screamed at one of the soldiers milling about to grab his herb pouch from his room, and stuck his hand over the man's side, trying to stymie the flow of blood. He looked back down at the wounded soldier when he clutched at the collar of his robes, who gasped out, "South…Figaro…"

"What? What's going on?" asked Banon, gently, and the soldier gasped again, and through gritted teeth, said, "The Empire…they've taken South Figaro…last night…no warning…we had no idea they were invading…they're coming this way…" The young man lay back, utterly spent, and closed his eyes, breathing shallowly. Suddenly the hoarse rasping stopped, and Banon quickly put his fingers to the man's throat. Then Banon rose, waving away the satchel a soldier was pushing out to him. "He's gone. He lost too much blood. My knowledge of healing can't help him now. Nothing can bring back the dead…"

Banon turned, looking at Locke and Edgar, who had gathered around with Terra and Sabin, who both avoided looking at the corpse. Locke was looking at the dead soldier with a sad look on his face, Edgar at Banon with a determined look in his eye. Banon shook his head. "No, Edgar. You can't go. If the Empire captures you, that'll be it for Figaro. They won't risk your life by fighting the Empire. You'll have to remain a king in exile."

Edgar clenched his fists, and then sighed, relaxing. "You're right, Banon. I can't go." He turned to Locke. "Locke!"

Locke jerked out of his reverie, silently studying the dead soldier, and looked up at Edgar, smirking. "I know. 'Someone' has to sneak into South Figaro and slow the Empire down, right?" Locke said, chuckling.

Terra watched as Edgar clapped a hand on Locke's shoulder. "This is right up your alley. Good luck. I'll be counting on you. And be careful. He said they had no warning…that means the Empire had help from inside. I think…you know who I suspect…"

Locke shook Edgar's hand, and then turned to Terra. "Terra…please wait for me..." he said, a strained expression on his face, "…and…please…don't let a lecherous young king, who shall remain nameless, near you."

"Locke!" cried Edgar, exasperatedly as Locke strode way laughing, grabbing a soldier by the arm and asking him to pack light supplies as quickly as he could and get him a grappling hook and a lot of rope. Terra lost track of his voice in the cacophony as Banon sent soldiers running every which way with messages and commands. "No, no, set fire to the records, to everything, and move everyone out of the caves to avoid smoke asphyxiation," Banon said to an officer. "I want you to take everyone northeast into the mountains. That'll help bog the Empire down and break off pursuit. I'll contact you as soon as possible with further instructions."

Suddenly, they were alone, the distant crying of troops echoing through the caves. Banon turned to Edgar. "Well, what're we going to do?"

Edgar looked thoughtful for a moment, and then snapped his fingers. "We'll escape down the Lete River, and make our way to Narshe. I want to see that Esper for myself…"

Banon nodded. "Right. There's a raft by the back entrance. It's a gamble, but we're fresh out of options. The troops will draw the Empire off while we escape the back way, and we'll contact them from Narshe. That'll keep you out of the Empire's hands."

Edgar laughed. "You too, Banon. You're as important as me." Banon shook his head, a wry look on his face. Edgar turned to Terra. "Come with us, Terra. You'll be in danger if you don't stick with us. You'll probably even gain some understanding of your own abilities."

Terra laughed. "Stay right next to the lecherous young king?" Edgar's smile drooped, and Terra laughed harder, slapping his arm. Sabin boomed along with her.

Banon smiled, but said, "We've no time to dilly dally. Let's make for Narshe." They headed for where the raft was moored.

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"You didn't say it was white water!" screeched Terra from her kneeling position as the raft lurched again, almost banging into a huge boulder right in the middle of the rushing river but fended off at the last second by a mighty heave of Sabin and Edgar's long barge poles. Banon was on the opposite side of the raft, fending the raft off from the side of the canyon with his quarterstaff they had grabbed from his room before getting on the raft. His satchel of herbs swung from his belt. Terra wondered if he had anything for motion sickness.

"The Lete River is one of the strongest in the world! It branches all through these canyons!" shouted Edgar over the rushing river, sticking the barge pole under the surface of the water and pushing. He was dressed in full armor again. "As long as we work our way west, though," he continued, "we'll come out near enough to Narshe! The other route comes out in the strait between this continent and the eastern one, and we'd be stuck in the middle of nowhere!" Edgar cursed and managed to catch the pole against a boulder and break the impact, but the raft still was shook as it bumped against it. Terra moaned, getting down on her hands and knees and stretching out, clinging to the rough planks.

Suddenly, something wet and clinging wrapped around her leg, and she felt herself being pulled towards the edge of the raft. "Ahh! Edgar, Sabin! Help me! Banon! There's something gross stuck to my leg! Ahh!" she screamed, grabbing hold of the planks as hard as she could and looking over her shoulder to see a brown, leathery tentacle wrapped around her leg. And beyond that…"WHAT IS THAT?!"

A mass of tentacles flailed about from the shape floating along besides the raft. Rows of teeth looked out from a gaping mouth, and a single slitted eye peered at her from the shapeless head. Suddenly the mouth moved, and a nerve-rending, high-pitched voice filled the air. "WEEHEHE! WHAT A DELICOUS MORSEL YOU ARE, PRETTY!"

Terra screeched, "It can TALK!" as Edgar tossed the barge pole to Sabin and ripped his spear from where he had slammed it into the planks by the point. He stabbed into the leathery mass of the giant octopus' tentacle, pinning it to the raft, and Terra felt its grip loosen enough to drag her leg free.

Suddenly another tentacle lashed forward and slapped Edgar across the face, knocking him over. "Get your own girl, pal!" it screeched, laughing, and deftly the tentacle tore the spear free and tossed it overboard into the rushing water. Sabin growled and rushed forward, raising one of the barge poles above his head—only to have his feet taken out from under him from another tentacle swung in from behind. He hit the deck with a thud and a grunt.

"Muscle-heads? Hate 'em!" the monster laughed, screechingly. "Ultros doesn't put up with shenanigans like that!" It slammed a tentacle down hard on Sabin, knocking the wind out of him in a great whoosh. Sabin coughed, and grabbed hold of the tentacle. Ultros lifted him into the air and slammed him back down, shaking the whole raft, but Sabin tenaciously held on, standing and catching the uneven edge of a plank with his heels, digging in and holding Ultros' tentacle still. He fended off another tentacle with his right hand, slapping it away.

In the meantime Banon and Terra were fending off three tentacles at once from Edgar, Terra slashing with her dagger and Banon whacking with his staff. Ultros laughed at their futile efforts, only managing to keep its tentacles at bay. "Don't tease the octopus, kids!" Edgar shook his head, woozily rising and drawing his sword from its sheath. He gripped it in both hands and quickly stepped over and lopped off the tentacle Sabin was gripping with an overhand slash. Ultros retracted the shortened length with a screech, spraying dark, ooze-like blood everywhere. Ultros pulled back from the raft, floating along with them in the foaming waters.

"Mess with me and you get burned!" it screamed, sweeping four tentacles in, aiming to snap the raft in half. Sabin moved like lightning and knocked them all back easily with a series of punches and kicks, the long slippery lengths flailing up into the air, and Terra sheathed her long dagger, spreading her legs and raising her hands in front of her, closing her eyes.

"You're the one getting burned," she said, firmly, and outstretched her arms. Fire leapt from her hands and slammed into the cephalopod's body. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, and Ultros retracted under the water to douse the flames, and quickly began to swim away.

"Quit it! You'll turn me into seafood soup!" it screamed as it lashed the water in an effort to escape.

"You're not getting away that easy!" Sabin yelled, and leaped off the raft into the mass of writhing tentacles. He slammed his fist into the squishy mass of the thing's head, eliciting a pained screech.

"No! Sabin!" screamed Edgar, making to jump in after them. Sabin and Ultros were getting farther and farther away from the raft in their struggle. "He's always been a tad overzealous…" Edgar said wearily as Banon and Terra grabbed him by the shoulders to keep him from jumping into the flotsam.

"HE'S overzealous?! Look at you, trying to jump in there in all that armor! You'd sink like a rock!" said Terra scathingly.

"Don't distract me, brother!" yelled Sabin. "I'll try and nail him with a blitz…gah!" Ultros' massed tentacles bucked, launching Sabin into the air, flipping head over heels. He came down hard against a rock, banging his head, and fell into the water.

"Sabin! SABIN!!!" screamed Edgar. Sabin floated to the surface, apparently unconscious, and floated along on his back, bobbing in the water, out of reach of the barge poles Edgar and Banon wielded trying to reel him in. Ultros had disappeared, but Terra kept a watchful eye out for him, ready to singe him again.

Suddenly, the raft came around a bend, and the river branched. It was all Edgar and Banon could do to keep the raft from turning into kindling against the out-butting wall of rock that split the river like a knife. The raft ended up floating towards the westward branch—and Sabin's unconscious form to the east.

"SABIN!!!" screamed Edgar, relentlessly thrashing and pushing with the barge pole, trying to get the raft to go along with the flow east that was taking Sabin away, but it was useless. Sabin floated off, out of sight, and Edgar's vision was filled with the rushing wall of the canyon this new stream went down.

"I…I've lost him," said Edgar despairingly, falling to his knees. "After all these years, together again, and now, he's gone." He felt a hard smack against the back of his head, and he jumped up, whirling, expecting to see that freakish monster again.

Terra had her arms outstretched holding a barge pole, an indignant look on her face. "We're going to drown if you don't get your act together! You can't help him, Edgar! He can take care of himself if he gets to dry land! C'mon!" Edgar gaped, and then laughed, grasped the long pole and went to work, mechanically, a lost look on his face. Terra's features softened. "He'll be alright, Edgar. He'll be fine." Edgar nodded, but his face didn't change, and Terra sighed, and awkwardly pushed at the canyon wall with her pole, trying to emulate Banon. Sabin'll live, Terra thought. He has to.

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They hit the great lakes southeast of Narshe as the sun was setting on the horizon, and made camp on the shore, exhausted after the constant struggle to stay alive on the river's surface. Terra made a fire using her powers, and Banon turned out to be an excellent cook, deliciously flavoring the hares they caught with some herbs from his pouch. They not only tasted delicious, they left them feeling refreshed, and some of the weariness they had felt went away. Edgar only ate a few bites, however, and then sat watching the sun set, sitting on a piece of driftwood by the shoreline. Terra tried to talk to him, but he answered in one word sentences. He was kindly enough, but Terra could tell he wanted to be alone.

Banon shook his head as Terra rejoined him at the fire. "Sabin's death will be hard on him."

"But, we don't know he's dead…" Terra trailed off, looking into the flames.

"The Lete River has claimed hundreds of lives. It's navigable, but once you fall in…of all men, Sabin looked like he could be one to break free of its grasp, but…" Banon dumped the grounds of his rough camp coffee into the flames. "We cannot think about it now. Edgar will have to hold up as good as he can. The Empire will not stop for his grief…we must help him bear on, Terra." Terra nodded, peering into the flames. She knew how unlikely it was that Sabin had survived, but…she felt…he was alive. He was alive. He had to be alive, for his sake and Edgar's.

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The trip into the icy north took more than a week. The three muffled themselves in the furs of slaughtered animals and slowly trudged north, the whistling wind attempting to scour them off of the blightless white plains. At night they sheltered by the few stands of pines they could find, huddled around the fire, and then the next morning trudged on wearily once more. Edgar's face became harder and harder as they traveled, more and more expressionless, his eyes resolutely pointed forward. Terra found him as incommunicable as he had been the day Sabin fell off the raft.

Finally, a week and a half after they had made their way along the shores of the great lakes to the western shores, they came in sight of Narshe.

And found it impregnable.

"Not even you may enter, if you are who you say you are, Lord," said the gate guard to Edgar, resolutely staring out of his cowl, flanked by five others. More covered the outer wall, hands on their crossbows and swords, staring at the travelers and the plains to the south. The wind whistled through the valley as hard as ever, keening and grating on the ears. Edgar spoke over it loudly, asking why.

"It's been like this ever since the Imperials attacked last month! The whole town is locked down! The Council refuses to let anyone enter, and they've turned away all Imperial ambassadors, and given commands that any from any other source are to be turned away as well! Narshe is to retain its neutrality at all costs!" the guard shouted over the wind.

Edgar thanked him curtly and turned away, walking back to Banon and Terra. Terra had her face covered as much as possible and her hood of her furs pulled up tight over her head. She couldn't afford to let them recognize her.

Edgar cursed, and told Banon what the guard had said.

"I heard him, Edgar. It looks as if we're going to be stuck here at this gate a long while. If only we could get into the town and talk to the Council, we could try and convince them that they can't sit this out! I can't believe they still think they can be neutral after the Empire attacked them." Banon looked at the abandoned schoolhouse warily. "I suppose we can take shelter there…"

"Wait!" said Terra, excitedly. "I know a way in!" Edgar and Banon looked at her curiously until she explained.

"A secret door in the cliffside?!" Edgar said, softly but excitedly. "That Locke! Leave it to him to find something like that! Lead the way!"

Terra found where she had come out with Locke what seemed such a long time ago, and a hidden lever made the wall give way, leading them into the mines. "The Moogles here can give us shelter, they helped Locke save me from the town guards, and then we can go into the town and talk to the man who helped me here earlier."

"Moogles?" asked Banon as they went in. "Aren't those only in stories?"

Edgar laughed softly, showing a bit of humor after so many days of stolid silence. "I can think of a few other things that are only in stories, Banon."

The wall slid back into place, and the keening wind continued unabated, cutting across the icy expanse for as far as the eye could see.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Shouts and hard boots tramping on the cobblestones disturbed the otherwise silent night of the occupied city. A man wearing black quickly dodged into an alley as the Imperial soldiers ran past, lanterns waving, in hot pursuit of him. He kept his ragged breathing in check and softly scrambled away, the soft leather of his boots making no sound on the alley pavement. He splashed through a puddle of water and other more disgusting elements and came out the other end of the alley into a side street. He looked both ways before stealing silently out, keeping close to the edge of the deserted boulevard and edging around the lighted circles cast by the street lamps.

For the past week, Locke had done his best to stymie the Imperials in their efforts to tighten their control on South Figaro. It had taken him a few days to work his way through the mountains with aid of the rope and grappling hook he'd taken from the Returners hideout, and dodging the numerous Imperial patrols in the Figaran countryside hadn't been easy, but he'd made his way into the city without a hitch. He joined the underground group that had been formed almost immediately after the Imperial invasion, led by local Returners members and strengthened by numerous South Figarans disgusted by the Imperial army's control. They'd worked hard, and it was a dirty business; the memory of the looks on the faces of the Imperial soldiers as that Magitek Armor had exploded from the lit rag stuck in the small gasoline engine responsible for some of the hydraulics on the machine would stick in Locke's mind forever. They'd died, burning, bleeding, and screaming as they were cut apart by shrapnel.

But the time for sabotage was over. Locke desperately needed to escape; the resistance had been compromised. A few had been captured and brutally tortured, and the rest had been hunted down with the information gained and slaughtered. All but Locke. And Edgar desperately needed to hear what Locke had discovered: the Imperials were turning their attention away from the Returners headquarters in the Sabil mountains, which had been deserted by the time they arrived, and the hunt for the Returner forces heading north. They were instead planning a massive assault on Narshe to seize the town and the frozen Esper. Locke had to warn them so they could prepare.

He couldn't leave by the Western gate; it was so heavily guarded as to make it impossible. The Eastern was secure as well, although not as strongly. But regardless he couldn't escape in this inky darkness; as risky as getting out in daylight would be, it would be even worse at night. He'd seek refuge at the one place he hoped would offer him shelter, and perhaps escape the next day.

A few more turns, a trip across a street, and several more alleys, and he popped out in the southern section of South Figaro. He walked up to a small house, noticing a lantern was still lit inside, and rapped at the door. He looked up and down the street as he waited.

"Who could be knocking this late at night…who is it?!" asked a female voice.

"Please let me in. I'm a friend of Edgar's, Sabin's brother," said Locke, hurriedly. He was feeling nervous; he knew there was barely a chance the old woman would open the door for him, let alone not shout to high heaven for the guards.

He was half amazed that the door was pulled open immediately and Duncan's wife looked him up and down, a stern look on her face. She seemed to recognize him, and her gaze softened. "Didn't know you were back here boy, though I might have guessed after all the trouble those Imperials are having. I saw you here with Edgar two weeks ago. You're Locke, correct?" Locke nodded, looking around again, and she grabbed his arm and with surprising strength dragged him into the house. She herself took a glance up and down the street before shutting the door.

The house was cozy and warm, and dim, the only light the small lantern Duncan's wife had been reading by. The stairs leading up to the second floor were pitch black and Locke could only make out the first five or six steps. The old woman pulled him over to a small table and sat him down in a hardwood chair, and then sat down across from him, grabbing his arm.

"Where's Duncan and Vargas? What's become of them?! And Edgar too for that matter?! These Imperial dogs took the place with nary a sound! Wasn't that why you and Edgar were here, to warn the governor?"

She fell silent as Locke looked at the table, and sighed, a pained look on her face. "I have the feeling you have bad news," she continued, "so I'll hear what you need first and give you my answer before I hear it."

Locke was silent a moment longer, and then cleared his throat. "I need a way out of this city. I can't do anything more here, and more Imperials are arriving the day after tomorrow. All the help I had…you saw the hangings, correct?" The old woman nodded, her jaw clenching in anger. Locke continued, "I can't do anything more here. I have to reconnoiter with Edgar in…well, I shouldn't tell you. The less you know the better."

Duncan's wife snorted. "You think those little Imperials would have their way with ME, young man? Let them come here and I'll guarantee that whatever happens to me, they'll count the cost dearly. But be silent anyway, dear. There's no need for me to know where Edgar is and chance it. I only need to know he's safe." Locke smiled at her tenacity. The old woman cocked her head and squinted at him. "You don't think I'm telling the truth, hmm?" She smiled, and gripped Locke's arm harder…and then harder…and then—

"Wait, wait, I believe you!" gasped Locke, and Duncan's wife laughed as she let his arm go. Locke rubbed it, looking sullen, and then laughed too. "I believe you could take down the whole Imperial army, ma'am."

"Of course! You'd think a man like Duncan would marry some little weakling? Of course, I don't think he knew quite the bargain he was getting when he found a woman stronger than he is. I tell you now, we haven't had many arguments, Duncan and I." Locke looked sad all of a sudden, and opened his mouth, but she raised her hand to silence him again. "I told you to leave it for last. You need to hear what you're going to do to get out of this place before I have my weep." Locke looked surprised, and the old woman chuckled derisively. "Yes, my lad, I have a feeling about what you're going to tell me. And only the greatest fool thinks that to cry makes a strong person weak. So hear me now, and then you tell me the news.

"You're going to do this tonight, as there's no time to waste. Dark will be the best time for this little trick. There's an old man, used to be a liquor merchant when he was younger, don't you know, although on the surface he was a servant to the original owner of that large mansion up north. Thing is, it wasn't the, err, ahem, most legal liquor available. In fact it was made entirely without a license, and shipped into the city through an underground tunnel by smugglers. The tunnel connects to the old man's house through his basement, and goes up to the mansion up north before cutting East and out under the wall into the woods outside the city. The rich man who occupied the place before the new governor moved in used to like the stuff, too, you see, and earned a nice profit from looking the other way when the smugglers moved the stuff in. So that's the ticket, m'boy. You just mosey over to that old merchant's place and get him to let you through."

"What, just like that?" Locke asked, and the old woman frowned.

"No, there are a couple of hitches. The old man'll only let merchants through. His son runs the business now. Yes, that's right, it's still going. Don't tell Edgar though, my dear." The old woman patted Locke's hand and gave him a sly grin. "The vice tariffs Edgar has on the regular stuff causes it to cost so much more, and I so enjoy a little snifter with my evening tea." Locke grinned widely, and Duncan's wife continued, "In any case, you convince the old fellow you're a merchant, and he'll put you up in a jiffy. The members of the merchant's guild are all chummy. Loosen his tongue with a little bit of the good stuff, as well, and you'll get the secret password that'll get you into that tunnel. Speak to his son once you know it, but you better not let on you don't; if the son finds out you're not really a merchant he'll kill you. I guarantee some of the smugglers are at the place as well. Don't think you can get into that tunnel by force."

Locke nodded, and the old woman fell silent, and then sighed. "Now, you tell me the bad news, son. What happened to Duncan and Vargas?"

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Locke thanked Duncan's wife as she let him out, her face blank as she wished him good luck and shut the door. He admired her control; she hadn't shifted her face once as he told her of what Vargas had done to Duncan, and how Sabin and Vargas had fought—and who had been the winner. When he had finished she had nodded and thanked him, and let him out. He was glad she still had several daughters in which to take comfort, but he knew what grief could be caused by the loss of a loved one.

But I'll find a way to remove those losses, he thought, that old fancy rising again from the depths of his mind. He pushed it down. It couldn't be done. There was no natural way for the dead to come back…but now he'd seen quite a few unnatural things, and felt his own horrible wounds healed in an instant…could there be a way? He shook his head, and turned, jogging off into the dark. He had to save his own life first, and the lives of the living. The dead could wait, no matter how much pain they caused the living.

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Locke followed the merchant stealthily, hiding in the shadows of buildings as he stalked him. He marveled at the ability the man had to pass through Imperial checkpoints without concern. Merchants weren't bothered by the Imperials as they went about their business, and Locke made use of the gaps in the Imperial ranks as the merchant and the trundle he pulled full of his wares was allowed to pass to slip through himself while they were distracted. He felt he knew where the man was heading; the large inn he and the others had occupied on their first trip through South Figaro. This'll be the easiest job I've had in a long time, Locke thought, amused.

He'd waited outside the smuggling house for hours as the night grinded on, spying for a mark, and it had been well past eleven when this local merchant had left through the back entrance, dressed in the flowing blue keffiyeh and white robes and cloak of the merchant's guild, looking both ways and heaving several casks and bottles into the trundle with the help of a couple of other men who looked less than reputable. He'd furtively covered the casks with several layers of furs and then grasped the handles of the barrow and nodded to the men before pulling the illegal cargo off through the night. Locke had followed, and now he had a plan for relieving the man of his garb. And other choice goods, as well. Locke would only be doing his civic duty by relieving the man of his ill-gotten funds.

Locke had thought briefly that he might be able to leave the town without going through the tunnel simply by acting as a merchant, but he'd have to wait until morning, and he didn't want to chance their discovering he wasn't a merchant anyway. A chance of leaving this very night with no one the wiser was a chance too good to pass up.

They finally arrived at the back of the inn, the darkened back courtyard, and the merchant opened the gate in the fence that cordoned the yard off, and pulled his trundle in and across the yard into the stables. He came back out and went in through the back door that led into the kitchen of the establishment's pub, which was apparently boisterous this evening from what Locke could hear, the piano in full sway and the din of loud conversation drifting out through the open kitchen door. Locke lounged in the shadows by the open gate, and waited.

A few minutes later the cheerful innkeeper he had met on his earlier visit came back out with him, accompanied by two large burly men. They all four went into the stables, and a moment later the two large men came back out with a large cask, and walked it into the kitchen. Locke waited patiently as they returned and got another, and another, and yet another. Finally they came out carrying several bottles apiece under each arm, and the innkeeper and the merchant came out, chatting quietly. Locke could hear them from where he sat.

The innkeeper propositioned the merchant for a quick drink in the wine-cellar, and the merchant readily agreed, but only with on the condition it was quick; he had to get to bed early if he was to peddle his legal wares properly at the town bazaar. The innkeeper smacked him on the back and led him inside, his arm on his shoulder. Locke snorted. Obviously the innkeeper was going to get the merchant as drunk as a skunk so as to better negotiate the price on the liquor. Which was perfect for Locke's plans.

Locke quickly sped across the yard as the innkeeper pushed the door lightly behind him, he and the merchant turning left and going down the stairs to the basement. Locke reached the closing door just in time to thrust a thin steel pin out into the swiftly closing gap between the door and the jamb. It closed silently on the pin, a thin crack of light still visible. Locke sighed in relief, and then slowly pushed the door open.

The kitchen was deserted; this late in the evening there weren't any orders for food. The two burly fellows were definitely out in the boisterous common room, ready to deal with any troublemakers or violent drunkards, although they'd certainly have their hands full; it was suredly packed with Imperials, who felt they could break the law with impunity due to the fear they instilled in the local citizenry. The lower ranks, dressed in green, could be handled with ease, but the upper ranks were above the law. The two bouncers would have to put up with their misdeeds for fear of punishment. Locke shook his head. He wasn't here to stop anymore Imperials; he had to escape and inform Edgar of what the Empire was planning next.

Locke tiptoed silently down the wine-cellar steps, careful for any creaks in the boards. He could hear the two men talking down in the bottom, the innkeeper cheerfully negotiating the price of the illegal goods with the merchant. There were short lapses in talk as the merchant and innkeeper imbibed their drinks, and then the haggling began again in earnest. Locke came to the bottom step. The innkeeper and the merchant were straight ahead, sitting at a table between rows and rows of racks filled with dozens of bottles of wine and ale casks. A bottle of wine was open between them, and the two sipped out of battered tin tankards every few moments. Locke inched to his right into another aisle and tiptoed up, and then peered through an empty space in the rack at the two men's private party.

As he watched, the innkeeper filled the merchant's tankard again, waving away his protests. The merchant gave way and took a swig of the wine, before continuing. Locke watched the innkeeper and smiled. Locke could tell the innkeeper wasn't really drinking; he was merely tipping his tankard up and making swallowing motions with his throat. All he did with the wine was whet his lips. However, the merchant seemed to be going through tankards quicker and quicker; he finished his third and actually asked for a fourth.

At this point the conversation had moved away from business entirely. The merchant kept shaking his head as the innkeeper gabbled on and on, and then suddenly the innkeeper told the merchant that the price was fair, pulled out a small leather sack of coins, and handed it to him, protesting that the merchant was trying to cheat him out of house and home.

The merchant looked blank for a moment, and then smiled broadly, thanking the innkeeper in a slurred voice, telling the innkeeper he was getting a real bargain. The innkeeper kept up a face of mock annoyance. The merchant set his tankard down, empty after being filled to the brim for the sixth time, and tried to stand, saying he had to go to his room and get some sleep. He immediately sat back down and his head fell forward on the table. The innkeeper merely watched him silently for a few moments, and then the merchant began to snore. The innkeeper chuckled, gathered up the empty wine bottle and sullied tankards, and turned the lantern down a bit. He grabbed an old burlap sack from under the table, threw it around the snoring merchant's shoulders, and then tiptoed back up the stairs Locke had come down, leaving the merchant to sleep the night away in the basement—and wake up to an aching head and a substantially smaller profit than he had expected for the illegal booze.

Locke waited a few moments to make sure the innkeeper was not going to return and then snuck out from behind the wine rack. He walked over to the merchant and grabbed him underneath the arms to haul him from the chair and strip him of his clothes. Locke's hand reached into the pouch at the man's belt as well—he'd need plenty of coin on his way to Narshe. He did not expect what came next.

The merchant's eyes snapped open, and he looked around blearily into Locke's face. Their gazes were frozen on each other for a moment, and then the merchant jerked away from Locke and went reeling across the floor. He grabbed ahold of a wine rack and pulled himself up, kicking his robe to untangle his legs from it, whirling to face Locke. "You…you…you…thief! Come to rob me…eh?!" the merchant slurred loudly, and then took a step towards the stunned Locke. "I'll show you, I'll…I'll…" The merchant lurched at Locke, and Locke sidestepped, sticking his foot out and tripping the man, who fell flat on his face. The merchant turned over on the floor, and said groggily, "I'll rip you limb from limb, and then I'll—" What the man was going to do was cut off as Locke held the tip of his long dagger under the man's nose and the man immediately shut his mouth.

"That's 'treasure hunter', my good man. Remember it, or else I'll have to rip your lungs out," Locke said good naturedly as the man stared cross eyed at the dagger. "And I'm hunting for a goodly pair of robes. Now please stand up and relieve yourself of your vestments, if you please?"

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Locke left the inn yard a few minutes after midnight, dressed in the merchant robes and hauling the man's barrow filled with its furs. The man's clothes were a bit tight, but the price was right. He'd left the merchant drowsing drunkenly in his underclothes, tied with a bit of rope Locke had found nearby in the basement, and Locke, laden with the man's robes and money had snuck as quietly as he could up the stairs and back out the back door.

Locke made sure to take a different route back towards the smugglers' house. He didn't want to meet any of the checkpoints the merchant had met going to the inn and rouse their suspicion. As it was he sweated terribly passing through two sets of guards, who waved him on without a second glance upon seeing him, and Locke was finally glad to make it to the street of the smuggler's house. He dumped the barrow in a nearby alley and took from it the sole thing he'd taken from the inn's basement that didn't belong to the merchant—a bottle of fine wine. He tucked it under his robe and snugged it tightly behind his belt, and then walked up the street to the smugglers' den.

He knocked on the thick front door, and for a few moments there was silence. Then he heard footsteps before a small slit in the door was opened, exuding light into the dimly lit street. The eyes that looked out looked him up and down and then opened the door. The man was revealed to be rather short but tightly muscled, and wasn't over the age of twenty-five. He looked like a very rough character, despite his fine clothing, with a thin mouth and eyes that seemed set too close together, and a large scar on one cheek. He also looked suspicious as Locke stepped into the front hall, smiling, and shook his hand. Locke could hear loud voices downstairs and much thumping. Apparently a shipment of liquor was still being put away.

"Ah, hello, good sir. I've come a long way," Locke said ingratiatingly. "It's great to finally get here so late at night."

The man frowned. "Who are you, if I might ask?"

Locke laughed. "Ah, you don't know me, but you soon will! I've come to see the old man who owns the place. An old friend of my father's. You wouldn't happen to be his son would you?"

The man nodded sullenly, and then asked, "Who's your father? Where'd they meet?"

"Ah, they met a long, long time ago, when they were both young pups," Locke said, laughing, avoiding the first question. "They're both merchants, you see. My name's, err, Collin. Collin Smith."

The man shook his head. "Never heard of a Smith being a friend of my father's," he said, staring at Locke with renewed suspicion.

"Hah, I bet you haven't! They met back before the war you know. The war with Doma, I mean. They haven't kept in close touch, but I was here in South Figaro to pick up some, uhh, specific wares. At a low price, I hear." Locke winked at the sullen man, and then continued, "And my father told me to drop on by and say hello to his old friend and his family." Locke smiled and put his hand on the man's shoulder. The man stiffened. "You and I ought to be friends, us both being merchants as well as our old men, eh? Anyway, is the old fellow still awake at this hour?"

The old man's son nodded sullenly, and led the way up a staircase to a second floor landing, still looking at Locke hard, squinting.

They found the old man seated in a chair at a large table, reading a book. He looked up from behind small glasses and peered at the two men, squinting. "Casper, who's this with you, hmm? Another buyer?"

Casper nodded, still looking sullen, and said, "He also says he knows you, father, or at least his father knows you." The old man raised his eyebrows, and Locke stepped forward and shook the man's hand.

"Collin Smith, sir. My father John has always spoken warmly of you," Locke said, continuing in the face of the man's flabbergasted look. "Why, he says you were the best friend he ever had, well, back before the Doman war, that is. Yes, he says, you were always there when he needed help. Said you were the warmest, friendliest man he ever met in all his days. He regrets not being able to write you, sir," Locke said quietly, leaning in close, "but he's retired now and ever since he had a seizure writing's not his forte, and he said there was no need for him to write anyway."

Locke started talking at a breakneck pace. "Said you must have forgotten him by now. But he said he'd never forget you, not ever! And then I was coming here to South Figaro from Nikeah to pick up some goods, sir, and he up and said to me, 'You look in on my old friend, that paragon of men, that man I owe everything to. And you walk right up to him and you say to him, "Thank you. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be here, because my father'd be dead in the street without your friendship and guidance."' Yep, that's exactly what he said! You look well to be surprised, too sir," Locke said at the man's increasingly shocked look, "I couldn't believe such words either, but he stood by them! And I have to thank you sir, I have to thank you from the bottom of my heart." Locke knelt on one knee, looking up at the flabbergasted old man in the rocking chair. "Without you my old man'd be dead, and I wouldn't even exist, let alone have heard such compelling stories about you all my young life and grown up to be the merchant I am now. I used you for an example, good sir! Yes, I did! And now I'm successful, and you sir, it's all thanks to you! To you!" Locke stopped, breathing rapidly, and then stood up, and feigned embarrassment. "Well, I uh, I brought this as a token of our thanks, sir," Locke said, reaching into his robes and pulling out the fine wine. "I thought we could share it, you and your son and me, and rebuild up the ties that were lost. What do you say, sir?"

The man's mouth worked twice, his eyes wide, and then he shook his head and cleared his throat, smiling, "Why yes, of course! And I haven't forgotten John at all, I assure you! Why, we and him had many a fine time together, you know, uhh, peddling goods together I, uh, believe?" Locke nodded, and the old man laughed, slapping the table next to him. "Yes, yes, me and your father traveled all over this country selling wares! Haha! Oh, the times we had. Sit down, sit down," he said, gesturing at the table. He waved his son over as well, who was still looking at Locke in utter disbelief. He jumped, and hastened over, pulling a chair out for himself as Locke pulled the cork from the bottle and filled three glasses. He handed one to each of the other men and raised his, proposing a toast.

"To old ties not forgotten! And to all the adventures you and my father had in the merchant business!" They all downed the glasses of wine.

The old man chuckled again. "Oh, my, yes, I tell you, we wandered from village to village, selling our wares. We had just both started in the business…Roger was a few years younger than me and he needed someone to really show him the ropes, you know? I think he looked up to me, Roger did." The old man's son, who had been peering into his empty glass, looked up at the mention of "Roger" and looked over at Locke quickly.

"Oh, yes, sir, my father once told me what you said to him. 'Roger, if there's anything else you learn, learn this: there's a sucker born every minute and a fool every hour, and you and me have to run the stopwatch!'" Locke laughed loudly, quickly recovering from his own shock at hearing the old man refer to "John Smith" as "Roger Smith". "Oh, my, he said you were the funniest man he ever met!"

The old man slapped the table and chuckled. "Oh, yes, that was one of my favorite sayings, along with others. 'A fool and his money are soon parted…especially when you and I jump between them.'" The old man laughed uproariously with Locke. "Oh, yes," he said, wiping a tear from his eye, "me and your old man made a killing off of those country peasants, yes we did. But I tell you they were smarter than any of the city ones! We'd sell them watered down cider as the pick of the litter and they'd walk away believing it! Sell them second-hand, threadbare clothing as 'vintage' and they'd walk away pleased with themselves!" The old man poured himself another glass and took a large swig. "We tore this county apart in those days, I tell you!"

Casper looked back and forth between Locke and the old man, his face sullen and bored. Apparently he'd forgotten Locke had first said his father's name was John. Then he stood up and excused himself back to his work in the basement, with a last look at Locke. Locke watched him walk down the stairs out of the corner of his eye, and then refreshed the old man's glass, laughing at yet another anecdote from the old man's past he'd shared with Locke's fictitious merchant father. In fact, Locke soon found out the man was so senile he had the feeling "Roger Smith" was entirely fictitious as well. They continued chatting about the merchant business, Locke usually covering up anything he didn't know about the business with a mention of the past, at which time the old man would tell an anecdote that answered the very thing Locke didn't know.

Locke could tell the man was fairly drunk at this point, and figured now was as good as ever to get at the heart of the matter. He chuckled, "Well, sir, you being a fellow merchant, I was wondering if you had ever thought about the secret word we all shared. You know, the real meaning of it and how it relates to our business."

The old man became strangely sober and quiet all of a sudden, smiling, looking at the table top. His eyes became misty. "Ah, my boy, I've thought of it many a time. I kept whispering it to myself when I was working up the nerve to speak to the woman who'd become my wife. You know, your father introduced me to her." Locke became very still as the man continued, still looking at the table. "Yes, my boy, I owe your father more than he ever owed me. You remind him of that! He introduced me to my wife to be…yes…and he made sure to remind me of the secret word when I told him I wanted to ask her to marry me and I didn't think I could go through with it. He told me I had to have it, had to buck up and have it, and have enough of it to go through with it." The old man looked up at Locke, who was staring at him, mesmerized at this old man who was sharing a deep, old, personal memory to him, one he may never have spoken to anyone else.

"He said the worst thing in life was regret about the things we never had enough courage to do, to try, no matter what the outcome was!" the old man said, smiling and pointing at Locke. "So I bucked up my courage, lad, and I asked her to marry me. And everything else I ever did in my life I did the same thing. That's how the word Courage relates to us, boy. You have to have the courage to be a merchant, the courage to look them in the eye and lie…and when needs be, the courage to give 'em a thing or two for less than it's worth, when they don't have the money…but! Make 'em think you're charging 'em too much for it! No one likes charity!" The old man chuckled, looking at the table and slowly swaying back and forth. The wine was going to his head quickly. "You just remember that boy…courage is what every person needs…" The old man put his head on the table. "Courage…" The old man's breathing slowed and he fell fast asleep.

Locke sat for a few moments more, looking at the old man, and then stood up. Courage, he thought soberly. I've never had enough. I couldn't bear up and have the courage to suffer her wrath, and I lost it all…Locke shook his head, thoughts of introspection aside. He had to go. Now.

He walked downstairs, and through the basement door. He walked down the stairs into the lamp lit cellar. Casper was there with three other swarthy looking men, playing cards at an old table, surrounded by dozens of piled casks and wine bottles. He looked up at Locke, his eyes cold.

Locke smiled at him. "Your father fell fast asleep, bless him. I fear I have to leave tonight, however. And I'll need use of the passage." Casper blinked at him, and then stood up, his mouth drawn tight.

"And the goods you wanted to buy?" Casper asked, steelily.

"Why, a dozen bottles of your best vintage, my friend!" said Locke, pulling out several gold coins. "Put them in a sack."

Casper complied, and then handed the sack to Locke in exchange for the coins. "What's the password?" he asked, smiling, a smile which didn't touch his eyes a whit. Locke could feel the eyes of the other smugglers on his back.

"Courage, friend," Locke said, smiling, and Casper grunted, looking mildly disappointed. He walked over to the wall and grasped a lamp fixture, the only lamp not lit in the whole basement, and turned it three times and then yanked on it. A large shelf to the right of it slid to the side on grinding gears, revealing a wall inset in the wall. He opened it, pushed on it, revealing a pitch black passageway. He lit a candle and handed it to Locke, and then moved aside, gesturing. "Have a care you don't slip and fall and break something. We shan't hear you," he said, grinning again. "And keep quiet, of course. You'll have to go through the mansion! The Imperials blocked off the main passage with steel bars a few days ago when they discovered the other half of the tunnel! Turned it into a set of prison cells!" He guffawed, and the other smugglers laughed as well.

Locke felt humiliated. All this trouble, he thought, and all for nothing. Casper was looking at him gloatingly. Apparently he found even the smallest of snares in Locke's plans, from his perspective anyhow, extremely humorous. If Casper only knew that he had revealed that Locke's fate as a prisoner of South Figaro was almost guaranteed he'd have been rolling on the floor laughing. Locke gritted his teeth. Courage, he thought. "Through the mansion, hmm? There's a passage past the steel bars if I go that way then?"

Casper stopped smiling, and frowned. "There's a separate entrance beyond the bars, to the governor's study. So you could go up through the kitchen, to the upstairs and through his study and down the stairs there to the other side of the bars…if you were mad! Can't be done! They'd throw you in jail."

Locke smiled. "Lead on, dear Casper. I'll chance it."

Casper looked at him disbelievingly, and then snorted. "No, no, you'd be caught. And then you'd reveal the secret passage to them, and our operation would be shut down forever, and not just until the Empire decides they're through occupying the town so strongly."

Locke shook his head. "Take me to the end of the tunnel, open the door at the other end, which I assume is hidden from the other side just like this one, and lock it behind me. I won't say a word about it if I'm caught, which I won't be, and I won't be able to open it, and therefore prove it exists, in any case." Casper was going to say no again, but Locke held up the bag of gold. "The rest of this is yours if you help me." Casper licked his lips, looked at his friends, who were eyeing the bag of gold voraciously. If he didn't agree to take Locke, one of his smuggler friends would override him and take Locke anyway, despite any of Casper's protests. And then they would get the gold, not him.

Casper nodded sullenly. "Fine, let's go." He took another candle and marched quickly through the door, Locke close behind.

The tunnel winded back and forth, but was only one line without any branches. It was pitch dark without the candles. It seemed to Locke they had been walking for almost twenty minutes when Casper finally came to a stop at another doorway. He turned to Locke. "I'll lock it behind you, and you won't be able to open it," he said, gesturing at the wall, where a large lever was. "So don't bother trying to." He opened the door, which swung inward. There was what seemed like a bare board of wood the whole way across the entrance, with one small switch in the back. Casper pulled it down, and the back of the cabinet slid aside, this time on well-oiled gears, revealing a dark room, with steps leading upwards to the left and steel bars straight ahead, blocking off further passage down a dimly lit corridor.

Locke stepped through quickly, and heard the cabinet slide back into place behind him. He heard a large lock snap into place as well. Locke doused his candle quickly. He'd have to rely on the dim lantern light of the passageways to guide him; the candle would reveal him.

Locke sighed. Here he was, in the basement of building crawling with Imperials, with no way out but forward. Oh, well, he thought. At least I'm rid of Casper.

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Locke quickly removed the robes and stuffed them down behind a barrel beside the staircase. Then he slowly walked up the stairs.

The kitchen was deserted. He pulled a door slowly open and looked out into a deserted dining room with a long table, already set with the morrow's silverware of candlesticks. He took a glance at some of the silverware, but fought down temptation. As much as they were worth, he didn't need anything jingling and jangling as he found his way out of this place. He opened another door off the dining room and looked out into the large entrance hall. It was mostly deserted—except for the two Imperials guarding the main entrance to the mansion. They were facing the large double doors, however, and chatting with each other across the distance between them, undoubtedly because they were greenbacks, as the lower ranks were called, due to the green leather uniforms they wore, and so were undisciplined and unruly when out of the sight of their superiors.

Locke took a deep breath, and stepped out of the dining room. The door slid shut behind him silently. He looked at the large staircase leading up to the second floor—across the entire length of the hall from him. He took one step, and then another, his eyes locked on the soldiers. He walked very slowly across the hall. If either one looked at the other when they were talking they would probably spot him out of the corner of their eye, but at least he could reduce the chance by moving slowly. Ever so slowly.

Luckily, they seemed disciplined enough to keep their eyes on the door they were guarding and speak to each other without turning their heads. Locke finally made it to the staircase after what he felt was an eternity.

He quickly scampered up the staircase to the upper floor's corridor. It was deserted. The study was the first room on the left. He reached out to open the double doors and suddenly noticed the slight light peeking out from underneath. He froze. The room was occupied.

He put his ear up to the door. There wasn't a sound but a slight rustling of paper. Locke racked his brain, but he couldn't think of anything else but to go through this room. He knelt and peered through the keyhole. He let out a sigh of relief. The only man in the room was Carter, Edgar's friend, sitting at his desk and looking at documents, dressed in a nightrobe. Locke had feared it would be General Leo or Celes, both of which had been in the city, though which one had remained was not known, or some other high ranking officer, up mulling over battle strategies or whatever it was generals did. Carter was no worry to him.

Locke quickly opened the door, and stepped inside, and quickly closed it, waving the startled Governor Carter to silence. Locke smiled at him, leaning back against the door and crossing his arms. "If I'd known you were still here in some position of power, Carter, I'd have just come to the main door and not had to sneak in here! Just wait until Edgar hears you're alright! He'll be so pleased…" Carter looked strangely at him, and Locke frowned, walking forward. "Are you all right, Carter?" Locke asked worriedly. "You look sick or something…" Locke trailed off as Carter leaned back and put his hand over his eyes.

"Locke…oh, God…" He rubbed his eyes, and dropped his hands, looking at Locke with the most stricken face Locke had ever seen. Carter almost looked close to tears! His eyes were ringed with black from lack of sleep, and looked almost sunken.

"What's wrong, man?" Locke asked, leaning over the desk and putting his hand on Carter's shoulder. Carter shook his head, and stood up. Locke stood back, frowning harder. Carter walked over to the window and looked out at the northern wall, ringed with numerous lights. The silence stretched. Locke felt uncomfortable…and a nagging suspicion he'd been mulling over in the back of his head for the last two weeks came to the forefront once more. A suspicion spoken by gossip in every tavern in the city. A suspicion answered quickly when Carter finally spoke.

"Edgar may be happy for a little while, but he won't be, once you tell him the truth, Locke." Carter turned back to Locke, who was looking at him with hard eyes. "Yes, you've already figured it out. I knew you would. Edgar, his friendship blinded him I'm sure. He knew South Figaro was betrayed but didn't know who, right?" Locke nodded. Carter laughed, harshly. "He knows. He just denies it to himself." Carter sighed, and then said, firmly, "I betrayed Edgar. I didn't warn the town militia the Empire was coming. In fact I actively wrote the Empire and told them now was the time to invade. I promised they would not be resisted. And they weren't, not really, accept for the few soldiers who responded in time. They were slaughtered, of course. And now the Empire has control of South Figaro." Carter fell silent.

Locke shook his head, looking at Carter with hard eyes. He wanted to hate this man, but for some reason how he spoke didn't make for any hate. Or pity, for that matter. He spoke as if he had done what he thought was best! "Why, Carter? Why did you betray Figaro?!" Locke asked, loudly.

Carter was silent, and then said, finally, "I didn't. At least, I thought I had not. I knew that if we went to meet them in combat, the losses on our side would be heavy. Too heavy for me to bear. I felt the best decision was to surrender to them. I don't think we can win. I thought it was what was best for the country."

"How can you say that?! After what they've done?!" cried Locke, heedless of who might hear. "After your own people died, defending this country at the capital? They still die, Carter. I fought beside them, here in the very streets, and they died, but they did not die thinking they had fought in vain! The Empire is a monstrous evil, Carter. Thousands have died fighting them these past years, to hold back the slow cancerous spread, and you think you have the right to surrender these people's country to them?! These people who would fight and die if given the chance, scream defiance to their last breath and their last man?!" Locke strode forward and grabbed Carter by the collar of his robe. "You traitor!" Locke screamed at him, and then fell silent at Carter's face, which had firmed in resolve. The stricken look was gone.

"Yes, Locke. I betrayed Figaro. Kill me. That is the fate of a traitor. Do it!" There was no pleading in Carter's eyes, simply resolve. Locke's face was frozen in mask of anger, his teeth bared, and then it softened—and then hardened. He let go of Carter's collar.

"No, Carter," Locke said, "I won't kill you. Edgar would never forgive me." Carter brows furrowed in puzzlement, and he opened his mouth. Locke raised his hand to silence him, his eyes blazing. "Silence. And you will not kill yourself, either, because you are not a weak man, I think, Lord Carter Gurst. You have made your decision, and the deed has been done. So what you will do now is remain here—and fight. You will make what you have done right, by doing whatever you can to sabotage the Empire from the inside. There is still resistance in the city, though the cell I was part of has been destroyed. Help them, Carter, and do not feel pity at their death, because they fight for a cause worthy of their sacrifice. And you may well die too, correct?" Carter still looked puzzled, and then as if in epiphany his brows rose, and he nodded, his jaw clenched.

Locke nodded curtly, and then asked, "Now, Carter, I need to get out of this city immediately, with whatever intel I can." Locke pointed at the documents on Carter's desk. "Are those of military importance?"

"Yes. They're of some importance. Mainly concerned with ordering food for the troops—so exact numbers of how many and where they are posted are recorded, along with patrol routes and campsites. These are my copies, so you can take them and the Empire will not be suspicious." Carter gathered the sheets and handed them to Locke, who folded them and tucked them inside his vest.

"Now I need to get out of here, Carter. Where's the passage down to the cells?" Locke asked. Carter pointed to his right, to a curtained alcove.

"There's a passage through there. You knew about the secret tunnel to the outside of the walls then?" Locke nodded, and Carter nodded as well. "Of course you did, that's how you got here…well, the Imperials know now. So watch your step. One of the guards posted has the key to the entrance to the passage outside, though, so I don't know how to help you there."

Locke shook his head. "Don't worry, I'll think of something." Locke turned to go, but Carter stopped him.

"Wait. There's someone you need to help. She's down below." Locke looked puzzled. "Just go look in the first cell on the left." Carter smiled. "I think you'll be surprised."

Locke frowned, and then took a deep breath, and smiled back. "I hate surprises, Carter. It also seems like whenever I end up helping a damsel in distress I get pulled into a bunch of things I'd rather not. I'll be seeing you." Carter chuckled, sadly, and waved goodbye. He knows I won't see him again, Locke thought. He knows what he has to do to make things right. Die. As a traitor to the Empire.

Locke turned and went through the curtains, down the steep steps into the prison below.

--------

Locke paused at the bottom of the steps, hearing the harsh smack of fist on skin and small grunts of pain. He heard the harsh voice of man. The cry of pain seemed to be female.

He turned left down the corridor, and came to a stop at a thick steel door with a barred grating in it at eye level. He peeked inside.

A blonde-haired woman was shackled to the wall, her face grimy and her hair unkempt and dirty. She was dressed, strangely, in rags of yellow silk, dirty and stained. Her face was sharp with bruises, and puffy. As Locke watched one of the two guards in the room, a tall, broad-shouldered man in brown leather, backhanded her across the face. She made no move to resist him, chained as she was; her hands were upright above her head, tight against the brick wall. But her eyes were hard, though her face and demeanor were cold as ice.

Suddenly, Locke realized where he had seen the woman before.

The man slammed her in the jaw with his fist, and she let out a small cry of pain. He laughed harshly. "This is what happens to traitors, my dear. How the mighty Celes has fallen!" he said, in mock sympathy. "'Cold and pure as new fallen snow, genetically engineered Magitek Knight, the battle-queen of a thousand skirmishes'…reduced to this." He grasped her chin, looking into her eyes, that nasty grin still on his face. "Still defiant, I see. We'll have you supple for when you're put to death, don't you worry."

Celes spoke then, her voice cold and firm. "How can you serve those cowards? Gestahl and his dog, Kefka!"

"Hold your tongue!" the soldier said, squeezing her chin.

"Kefka's planning to use poison on Doma in the East, isn't he? He's a butcher!"

"I said shut up!" The soldier slapped her again. "I'd hate to be in your shoes tomorrow, former General Celes Chere." He turned to his subordinate standing close by. "Keep a close eye on her."

The other soldier saluted. "Yes, sir! I can go for days without sleep, sir!"

The soldier saluted and sauntered out of the cell, slamming the door behind him. He sensed something…as if someone were watching him. He glanced around, up and down the corridor. Nothing.

He shook his head and tromped off, up the stairs to the governor's room.

Locke chuckled quietly from his vantage point on a beam above. That was close, he thought. He scrambled down, the corridor narrow enough to slide down by bracing his legs on either stone wall the way he had climbed up.

He peeked through the grating again and almost laughed aloud. The stalwart trooper on guard had fallen asleep in a chair already! Locke was surprised he had waited until his superior left the room. The ragged General Celes was still awake, however, silently watching the floor in front of her face.

The door was only closed with a bolt which turned without a sound. The cells had just been prepared and so all the trappings were still well-oiled. Locke stepped inside, quietly shutting the door behind him. Celes looked up at him, a look of surprise on her face.

"Who are you?" she asked, her eyes piercing him.

"Hey, relax. I'm with the Returners. My name is Locke." He glanced at the soldier sprawled in a wooden chair. Drool was slowly pouring down his chin. Locke stepped lightly across and examined Celes' shackles.

Celes shook her head in disbelief. "The Returners?! I used to be General Celes…now I'm just a common traitor. Why would the Returners want to help me? I've killed many of your kind in the war. You'd take me along?"

Locke nodded. "Let's go." He pulled the long bolts out of either side of the cuffs. The metal sprang free and Celes lowered her arms, chafing her wrists. She shook her head at Locke as he gestured towards the door.

"I'm grateful, but…even if you got me out, you'd never be able to protect me. They'd hunt me down and kill me like a dog. Or worse. I'm better off staying here and facing a clean death at the execution tomorrow."

Locke grabbed her arm. "I'll protect you. I swear." She shook his grip off, looking at him with those piercing eyes. Her face showed no emotion. Locke held his hands out and said, "Trust me. You'll be fine."

Celes looked at him a moment longer, and then nodded. Locke turned, heading for the door. "Let's go."

"Wait," said Celes. "I'll need a weapon. And this soldier has something important on him. There's a key to the secret passage in his pocket." Locke stepped over to the sleeping guard, who was now snoring. He carefully unlaced the leather breastplate the man was wearing, and reached inside his shirt pocket. He pulled out a short piece of metal with several grooves wore in it. Suddenly the soldier stirred, mumbling, and Locke took a pace backwards. The man settled down again. Locke reached out once more to the scabbard at the man's side and slowly pulled the blade out by the hilt. The sword softly rasped on the leather sheath as it came free, but the man did not awaken. Locke handed the sword to Celes and gestured to her, and they quickly went outside in the corridor.

"He'll wake up a little wiser, hopefully. And not court-martialed for falling asleep at his post." Locke led Celes down the corridor, his dagger out. He noticed that Celes held the curved sword with an expert grip, both hands on the hilt and out in front of her. "Down here's where they have the passage blocked off," Locke said as they came to the end of the corridor past the rows of converted pantries. He gestured at the steel bars to his right. Then he pointed to a door on his left. "That must be where the entrance to the secret passage is, correct?" Celes nodded, and then looked at Locke.

"Why are you helping me?" she asked.

"You remind me of someone…but what's it matter anyway?" he said, embarrassed. "I just want to, okay?!" He yanked the door open.

The door opened on a room packed with a million different odds and ends. Boxes and crates piled high to the ceiling, and at least two old broken down free-standing stoves blocked the paths between.

"Where in all of this mess…?" Locke trailed off as Celes squeezed past him and walked back between two tall walls of junk. He followed her to the back wall, where an old up-right clock was backed up against the wall. She held her hand out.

"The key…a clock key! Huh, should've known…" He handed the clock key to her, and she stuck it in the winding hole and began to turn it. As soon as she made three twists of her hand the clock began ticking—and slid aside on hidden gears just like the other entrances.

The door behind it was unlocked, but Celes said they'd have to be quiet—there were guards in the passages ahead, and the place was a warren of rooms packed with liquor. "It's fairly straight, though," she said, and Locke followed her in.

The voices of several soldiers laughing harshly drifted up the corridor ahead of them. They proceeded cautiously, Celes leading the way with the sword out in front of her at the ready, and Locke following behind, taking glances behind them as they walked. They approached an open door—and inside by lantern light a group of six soldiers ringed a table playing cards. They blocked the way forward. Completely. The passage continued on the other side of this room "So this is how you took the city without much fighting? Brought the soldiers in through here?" Locke asked quietly. Celes nodded. Locke frowned. Getting around these guards without fighting would be impossible. Suddenly Celes spoke.

"Yes, without much fighting, but with plenty of slaughter. I jumped on the opportunity to take South Figaro without any need for force. But when we got here the soldiers started killing indiscriminately at Kefka's behest." Celes spat Kefka's name. "I protested. Apparently Gestahl took Kefka's side, however, and I was clapped in irons. Leo stopped the slaughter and tried to convince Gestahl I was innocent, but Gestahl wouldn't listen. The best Leo could do is take Kefka with him to Doma to keep him out of the war as much as possible. He promised to get me out of prison as soon as the campaign was over—but the order for my death came in yesterday. I've been utterly betrayed by Gestahl, by the Empire I've fought for all these years! Kefka plans to commit genocide on the Domans—and I have no doubt Gestahl approves." Celes' voice rose in anger, despite Locke waving her to silence. "And now my way is blocked by these murderers before me!" One of the soldiers looked up, and slid his chair back, peering out into the darkness of the hallway. Locke plucked at Celes' sleeve, to warn her to fall back against the wall of the corridor, but to his horror she rushed forward into the lamplight.

The soldier's eyes widened and he yanked his sword out. The others around him jumped up quickly, scrambling over each other as Celes stepped into the midst of them, overturning the table. "Come at me, you monsters," she said, her voice full of command. The soldiers stared at her in shock, this rag clad woman with blazing eyes and shining sword in hand. "Come and try me," Celes said, smiling, her face like frost, her voice dripping venom. "Fight. Or die like the dogs you are. I ask no quarter. I give none."

"It's the general! Kill her!" the highest ranking soldier screamed, charging her. Celes' smile grew, and she stepped deftly aside, the tip of her sword arching out and piercing his throat. He fell, rasping, his free hand vainly trying to hold his blood in. The other soldiers were still for a moment, staring at him in horror, and then jumped and yelled, and all came at Celes at the same time.

"Celes!" Locke yelled, jumping into the room behind her as she stepped forward to meet their blades. He couldn't believe what happened next.

Celes knocked aside two blades, dodged a third outstretched arm and brought her blade sweeping down, severing the hand holding the blade at the wrist. The man recoiled, screaming, holding his ruined stump with his other hand. A fourth blade struck out at Celes back—and was turned aside by Locke's dagger. Locke jumped at the man, crashing into him and dragging him to the floor. He rolled quickly, dodging a stabbing blade and tripping the soldier who was using it. The soldier went sprawling, and his blade stabbed through the soldier's chest that Locke had just knocked down. He recoiled in horror, jumping up and turning around—and his face was frozen in that mask as Celes' blade swept his head from his shoulders. She whirled just in time to smack away another blade. She thrust forward and stabbed another soldier in the chest.

The two remaining soldiers, other than the wounded man with one hand still screaming on the floor, rushed forward. Locke, still on the floor, grabbed one by the ankle, tripping him. He went flailing to the floor, and Locke quickly booted him in the face, knocking him senseless. Celes met the other, and the two exchanged blows for several moments—then Celes quickly jammed her blade into his hand. He dropped his sword, grunting in pain as Celes reversed her blade and slashed him across the chest. He fell backwards, slamming into the overturned table, and gasping tried to stand. He fell back on the pile of playing cards all over the floor, and screamed as Celes stabbed him through the chest. He shuddered and fell still.

Locke stood up, panting, and pointed to a side corridor off the room. "More soldiers are coming. We have to get out of here, now!" Celes nodded, but walked over to the side corridor entrance. Locke shook his head in exasperation. "That's not the way, it's over here—" He cut off as Celes lowered her sword and upraised one hand in front of the entrance. Her lips moved in silent words—and then suddenly a familiar glow surrounded her. Locke gasped. "You can use magic too?!" he asked in amazement.

The air in the room seemed to suddenly become extremely cold. A sheet of ice slowly extended from one side of the side-corridor entrance to the other, as perfect as a lake on a sub-zero day. Locke shook his head. Magic was surely an amazing gift.

Celes lowered her hand as the entrance was blocked fully and the light around her winked out. She turned to Locke, frowning at him. "Too? You mean you've met someone else who can?"

Locke nodded. "Yes, I'll take you to meet her. C'mon!"

Celes murmured assent, and they quickly dodged around the bodies and overturned tables to head through the passage, leaping over the moaning man Celes had dismembered. Celes seemed to pant harder than Locke, and he slowed their pace down as they jogged down the passage. She had just gotten out of prison after all. Lack of food and the savage beating she had received had to have weakened her. Celes shook her head and gasped that they had to go as fast as they could, that she was fine. But they slowed anyway.

Finally, after what seemed an interval of twenty minutes or more, the passageway abruptly ended. Locke glanced around at the walls, and then looked up. "Ah!" he exclaimed. He reached up to grab the cord on the trap-door stairs in the ceiling.

--------

As the sun rose over the horizon, Locke was busy putting out the coals in the fire-pit of their camp with the heel of his boot. He'd dug it down very deep to disguise it from any Imperial patrols that might pass by the copse in the night. He'd shared a few cooked slices of salted beef with Celes, who had fell asleep in exhaustion shortly afterward on the hard ground. Locke didn't have any real camping supplies or blankets.

They had run through the dark half the night, trying to put as many miles as they could between them and South Figaro. The exit of the passage had let out in a thick stand of trees to the East of the city. Locke and Celes had watched the walls for a few minutes, but there was no alarm; apparently the troops who were to set off the alarm were still stuck behind the extremely thick wall of ice Celes had built up over the hallway entrance.

And now morning saw them in a copse of trees, a scant few hundred yards from the entrance to the cave to the western desert. Several groups of soldiers had passed in the night, marching in unison in ranks of four towards the city. All seemed still now, though.

Locke shook Celes awake, and they quickly ran up the slope from the copse into the cave.

It was much the same as before, though new tunnels branched off from the main passage; they were smooth, as if recently machine made. It wasn't until they got to the small underground lake that things turned bad.

Locke and Celes watched the numerous engineers from the tunnel. They seemed busy setting up a large Magitek Armor that was equipped with huge drills for mining where the pincers would normally be. Locke shook his head. "Apparently they're trying to find something valuable to help fund the Imperial coffers. C'mon, let's sneak past them."

They'd only made it across half of the expanse when they were spotted. The jabbering engineers pointed at them. Locke just pushed himself harder, followed closely by Celes—who suddenly tripped over a rock and fell, crying out in pain. Locke stopped and rushed back to her, to help her up. The time lost had cost them, however.

The Magitek Armor hummed to life, and the drills on it started revolving, giving off a whirring sound. It slowly started walking towards them, piloted by a soldier who had been supervising the engineers.

"Damn!" swore Locke. They could easily escape the lumbering metal beast—but they were in range of its magic-powered weaponry. The beam underneath the cockpit hummed to life, already sparking with electricity. They were going to fry.

"I'm sorry, Celes. I've failed you." He smacked his fist into his thigh. Suddenly he felt a pulling on his arm.

"Help me up. Quickly!" Celes said. Locke hauled her to her feet, and she swayed slightly. She reached down and picked up her fallen blade. Locke shook his head. "We don't stand a chance against it, Celes. I'm sorry. It's already about to fire," he said, sadly, looking at the steadily glowing barrel of the cannon. The soldier inside aimed it directly at them, a smug look on his face.

"Step back, Locke. Leave this to me. I'll draw its magic attack, and then destroy it." Celes held the blade up in front of her, both hands upon it, aiming it at the machine.

"What?! You can't be serious!" Locke grabbed her shoulder, pulling on her arm. They could at least try to make a break for it. Celes shook him off, eyeing him with those piercing eyes again. He grunted in exasperation. The woman certainly expected everyone to follow orders. He turned towards the Armor, accepting his fate.

The soldier in the Magitek Armor reached out and pressed the lever in front of him—and a blazing bolt of lightning lanced towards them. It slammed directly into Celes blade like a lightning rod, and the sheer force and heat of it knocked Locke off of his feet. He recovered quickly, afraid to look at the charred corpse that was all that would be left of Celes.

He was amazed at what he saw. Celes' hair floated gently, and electricity arced off her skin. She shimmered with heat—but she was fine. She smiled in amusement at his expression. "This is what it means to be a Magitek Knight, Locke," she said, laughing. "I absorb magical energy, using a sword to channel it to me. And then," she said, her gaze returning to the still approaching Armor with it's stunned looking driver, "I can use the energy gained on those who attacked me."

She raised her hand, surrounded by that strange glowing light, and lightning arced from her fingers, slamming into the Armor. The driver jolted, electrocuted, and the console in front of him burst into flames. The lights on the Armor exploded, sending sparks everywhere, and the glowing magitek cells on the back went wild. Then the charge stopped, and the cells winked out. The Armor's engine slowly whined down, the drills stopped, and the driver slumped forward, smoking and quite dead.

The engineers ran off screaming wildly back into the cave the way they had come in, and Celes lowered her blade, the light around her fading once more. She shouldered the sword, smiling at Locke. "Shall we go?"

He smiled back. "Don't be so happy. We still have a desert to walk through. Let's fill up a few canteens with water from that pool and move on." Celes complied, and after they had shouldered their canteens they left the cave.

Locke looked forward to seeing Edgar, even though he'd have to tell him the truth about Carter. He hoped Edgar would accept what his friend had done, and what his friend was going to do to exonerate himself. Locke shook his head. It would be hard on Edgar in any case. He hoped he and the others had gotten to Narshe okay, or he'd be trudging all the way there for nothing. He looked back at the young woman trudging behind him, she who reminded him so much of Terra, and also of a woman long ago.

Locke looked forward again. The hot desert wind bit his cheeks as he made a vow. I will have the courage to see it through, he said to himself. No more avoiding pain.

They walked off into the shifting sands from the small valley, and were quickly lost to sight in the dust.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

He felt himself pulled awake, eyes half-opening, taking in the tranquil, diffused light around him. The gentle rocking of the warmth that held him, liquid he knew must be cold, but now felt warm, like a mother's embrace. Peace, now. Nothing but this slow spiral down into the dark oblivion. Rest. His eyes closed, slowly, slowly…

But then with great upsurge he flailed, eyes snapping open, as he realized where he was, and he thrashed his way upward, towards that failing light, so close now, but too far, too far. His energy was failing him, that aching pain in his chest fading, the light dimming. With one last effort, gathering the vestiges of energy that remained to him, he beat the water around him, great legs and arms tore through the current. Now was battle between man and nature, and it was a crushing force that tore at him. The struggle lasted for what seemed days…

Sabin's head burst through the frothy surface of the water, those powerful, trained lungs of his dispelling the water that strove to drown them with the force of a geyser, and he gasped in sweet air, tanged with salt. He breathed a few moments, feeling the pain die in his chest, treading water, waves gently crashing against him. He looked around wildly, because the last he remembered he had fallen into the Lete River, and now he was out at sea.

He realized where he must be. He had studied geography much of his young life and he knew he was in the strait between the two continents, a narrow stretch of water that separated the continent that held the kingdoms of Figaro and Jidoor from that of the one that held Doma, and that stretch of wilderness known as the Veldt. He could see land in two directions, and though he did not know the time of day and thus be able to orient himself using the sun that beat down upon him, he could identify west by the craggy cliffs and the jutting mountains that rose up from the land in that direction. There was no going that way; he could not climb those cliffs, and the Lete River was far too strong for him to swim up. So to Doma it was, despite his great hesitance to go there: he'd be wandering through a country at dire war.

Sabin swam for a few minutes and then tread water, and then repeated the process, but the land never seemed to get nearer. He felt despair. All his years of physical training, and he couldn't even swim a dozen miles? He tried to comfort himself with the fact he'd been jostled and tossed down the roughest river in the world and then almost drowned, but it was not enough to soothe his wounded pride. Curse that octopus, he thought. He better never show his mug around me again, or it'll be the end of him.

He began swimming again. There was a rip tide, strong currents from the southern trade route between Nikeah and Doma, but it was not enough to stop him, and even when he rested and treaded water he did not lose much distance. Slowly but surely the land grew larger on the horizon until it dominated it, and as the sun's rays were dying on the brown earth, Sabin gave one last groaning heave and dragged himself from the sea onto the beach, and lay with his head in a pile of kelp.

Sabin crawled, and when he knew he was high enough to escape high tide, he settled in the narrow between two boulders and fell asleep, utterly exhausted.

--

He was like that for two days, in a stupor, feeling feverish, making due with the dew that condensed in the shade under the boulders each morning to moisten his tongue. Finally, on the third day, Sabin struggled out from the crevice and walked stiffly up the rocky beach, inland, east.

There was pine here, but it was sparse where he was. It was mostly plains here, with forests on the slopes of the mountains he could see in the distance. He wandered over tall grassland, not a settlement in sight. He felt he was truly in the middle of an endless wilderness, until the afternoon saw him looking down into a bowl at a lone cabin built near a stand of trees. It had been hidden from view, the plains only appearing flat; it was a deception. Sabin had been scrambling up and down small, short slopes all morning.

Sabin licked his sore, dry lips with a raspy tongue. For the cabin to have been built, even if it was abandoned, there would have to have been a source of water. Hopefully it was still there.

He strode down quickly, his sore legs quickened by the prospect of water. The grasses came almost up to the cabin, leaving only a small yard and the space under the trees cleared. The place had a run-down look, but he could see people outside.

As he came into the yard, his eyes were filled with the well at its center, but not enough to dismiss the man in robes and blue keffiyeh dipping water from the well-bucket with a ladle and sipping it. His right hand held the reins of a chocobo laden with saddlebags full of goods. Sabin knew him for a merchant on sight.

The man turned, glancing at Sabin, but to Sabin's surprise he did not seem startled. The merchant smiled. "Seems this place is quite popular today. I've come out here for years to sell the old man his monthly supplies, not a soul for miles but me and him, but today two travelers at this place…seems like it can't be a coincidence." At Sabin's look of confusion, the merchant gestured towards a pine tree standing in the yard. Sabin looked and was startled.

In the shade beneath the trees needled boughs, leaning back against the trunk, was a man, entirely clad in black cloth and light-weight black leather armor. Even his face was veiled, with only eyes visible, at the moment closed. At his side lay a black and gold dog with pointed ears, silently lolling its tongue and looking at Sabin. The man's outfit combined with the shade under the tree and his utter stillness had made him completely invisible to Sabin until the merchant pointed him out.

The merchant chuckled. "Surprised me too, he did, when he came out and bought some supplies off of me." The smile faded off his face, and he said in a low voice, "Scared the heck out of me, as well. I know a bounty hunter when I see one, and that one's more famous than most. He must've took a ship out of Nikeah across the strait with some game hunters and got off along the coast here and then split off from them. Either he was running from something and didn't want to go through any ports, or he doesn't want to tip off someone he's chasing. Either way, I'd steer clear of him. He's the one they call Shadow. That attack hound of his is vicious, as well, but at least it has a heart, I think. Shadow doesn't have one. He tore it out long ago and sold it for profit, I bet." The merchant glanced at Shadow to see if he had heard, but Shadow still sat utterly still, eyes closed.

The merchant let his breath out slowly, and then said, "Well, I'll be leaving, young sir. You'd best buy some supplies, if you need 'em…" He cut off, noticing that Sabin had the water-bucket tipped up to his face, guzzling with abandon, heedless of the water streaming down his shirt. "Hey, have you been listening?" The mechant asked, annoyed.

Sabin lowered the bucket and nodded, and said breathlessly, "Yeah, yeah, most of it. I need supplies, definitely. Food, and some medical supplies if you have them." The merchant nodded and rummaged in his bag, handing Sabin a sack and depositing in it bread and cheese, and some dried and salted pork. "You'll need at least a day's worth to get to civilization, lad, and I think you'll need more than that. War was breaking out in Doma when I left to come out here, and the Empire is marching slowly but steadily on the capitol. Best take enough for a week or more."

He handed Sabin a bundled first-aid kit, bound in leather, and accepted the proffered gil with thanks, depositing the gold coins in his waist-pouch. Sabin felt lucky his wallet hadn't been lost or torn in the trip down the Lete. The merchant bowed, and then mounted the chocobo, speaking down to Sabin with one last piece of advice, "The old man in the cabin's mad, but he's harmless. Lost his wife and child a long time ago, they say, during childbirth. Did something to his mind. Some say he even killed the child himself, abandoning it on the plains, but I don't know the truth of the matter. Some say I'm crazy to come out here just to get him supplies, but he always has cash on hand, from somewhere, and I think if I didn't he'd starve to death. Doesn't have the sense to get himself much food, besides that pitiful excuse for a garden in back. Well, I'm off. It's been nice doing business with you, lad." Sabin thanked the merchant, and watched him trot off atop the great bird. It wasn't until he was just a figure on the horizon that Sabin realized he hadn't asked the merchant for directions. Cursing to himself, Sabin looked at the still, black figure under the tree, and then at the cabin. He sighed. Mad was better than ruthless.

He knocked on the door, but upon hearing no answer, he tried peeking around the edge of it, as it was almost falling off of one of the hinges and was slightly tilted. He couldn't see anything, so he opened it a foot and poked his head inside, and then opened it wide.

An old man, with a fairly long beard, sat at a scratched but clean table, next to a bed with ragged but clean sheets, dressed in threadbare but clean clothes. Everything else about the one room had a run-down look to it as well, from the dented pots and pans to the old pot-bellied stove to the rickety chairs.

The old man looked up, peering through the dim light at Sabin, and then shouted, "Finally! You the clock-maker? I've been waiting for AGES."

"Uhh…no. I am not the clock-maker," replied Sabin, hesitantly.

The old man gestured wildly at the wall, where an old pendulum clock sat, silent and unmoving. "There it is. Ain't had so much as a 'tock' in one, five, hell, maybe even ten years." The old man kept staring at the bemused Sabin, and then said, "Well? You gonna fix it or not? Hop to it!" The man then himself hopped up and walked over to his bed, jumped under the sheets, and began snoring. He was asleep!

Sabin stood still for a moment, and then slowly took one step backward and let the door swing shut silently. He looked forward at nothing for a moment, and then shook himself. He sighed, and looked back over his shoulder at the still figure under the tree. He steeled himself and walked over, stopping a few paces off as the dog's head snapped up and stared at him.

Sabin cleared his throat. "Excuse me," he asked.

The man's eyes opened, and he looked up at Sabin. They showed no emotion, no glimmer of anything. But they were piercing, and cold, blue as ice. Sabin continued, haltingly, but then with increased confidence. "Listen, you're a…traveler? Right? You're…on a journey? I got separated from my brother, and my other friends. Do you know how to get to Narshe from here? Or the capitol of Doma, at least?"

The man known only as Shadow was silent a while, but then finally said, in a raspy voice, "The Empire has set up base just beyond the forest to the east. They're laying siege to the capitol, upriver of them in an abandoned town."

Sabin slammed his fist into his palm. "Damn! So Doma's next…I have to get back to Narshe as soon as possible."

Shadow rose then, and Sabin froze. "The only way is through Doma, and then south to the Veldt. Perhaps you can catch a ship in Mobliz. I will show you the way. We will stand more of a chance together, even though I prefer to go alone." Shadow signaled to the dog at his side, who relaxed, stood, and stretched, looking up at him and wagging its tail. "Just know that I may take off at any time, if I feel like it. Death is always just a step behind me."

Sabin relaxed, and then stuck out his hand. "Partners, then?"

Shadow looked at Sabin's outstretched hand, and he felt nervous. But he saw that Shadow's eyes were finally showing something, looking introspective. Shadow then looked at Sabin and walked past him, ignoring the hand, the dog at his heels. "Come on. We haven't got all day." He whistled at the dog, and commanded it, "Scout ahead, Interceptor." The dog rushed off.

Sabin turned and quickly followed him, tying the sack around his belt. Who in the world had he joined up with?

--

Three days travel saw them several miles to the southwest. All signs of civilization they had passed were gutted villages and ruined railway lines. Sabin thought the Empire must've done it, but Shadow corrected him. "They undoubtedly did it themselves to deny the Empire any supplies and fled ahead of them, to the capitol, no doubt. The Empire certainly wouldn't have torn up the railway tiers. " Shadow was man of few words, but apparently Sabin's interminable voicing of his thoughts aloud had forced his hand. "Doma Castle has almost impenetrable walls, and it's built right on the river, with stone pylons running down to the riverbed. Only on the front wall does land butt up against it. A constant water supply, for both drinking and growing crops, right inside the walls. Whether or not they have enough food to feed such a large influx of people can't be known at this point, however, and eventually any city will fall if it is under siege long enough. But for Doma it may literally take years, and I don't think the Empire wants to take that long." This was the longest slew of words Sabin had gotten out of Shadow in the three days travel.

And now they peered down from a wooded hill at the Empire's base. Soldiers and tents covered the expanse, but the remains of ruined buildings could be seen, little more than low square walls at this point. The few remaining buildings probably housed the command. The town they occupied sat on the east side of the river, with a huge, wide bridge crossing it leading out from the town's southeast side. The river wended its way southeast across clear plains to the giant walls of Doma Castle, a mile or more away. From the bridge, Sabin surmised, one would see Doma Castle directly head on, the great gates centered. It would be even more of an intimidating sight than it was from here.

Sabin whistled, and then shook his head. "Well, looking at those walls, I'm not worried about them taking Doma. Anyway, how do we get around this base and on south?"

Shadow shook his head. "We don't."

"What?!" yelped Sabin.

"Those mountains there to the south? Impassable. The river flows right up to them, and then curves out to the southeast there, as you can see. The river is too strong and too broad to ford, and even though you could possibly manage it, you'd be seen and blown out of the water. They're watching it like hawks to catch any saboteurs from Doma. What they may not be watching as much is the land route. We have to cross that bridge down there. And that means sneaking through that Imperial base." Shadow reached out to scratch Interceptor's head as he looked down at the base in thought.

"Sneak through the—you say that like it's nothing! That's half the Imperial infantry down there, maybe more! They may have been moving more troops in, since Figaro fell under their control. No war over there. They're just going to let Figaro Castle go for now, now they have South Figaro. They might move seventy-five percent of the force here! Not to mention all the Magitek Armor…" Sabin shook his head. "It's impossible to sneak through there."

"And yet it must be done. So. Let's go." Shadow rose and began walking nonchalantly down the hillside.

"Shadow—shouldn't we at least wait until nightfall or something?!"

"It'll be evening when we get there." Shadow continued walking, Interceptor at his side, and Sabin was forced to hurry to catch up to them. This is going to be suicide, he thought. What a mess.

--

Sabin and Shadow made camp not far from the base in a natural hiding place amongst a stand of trees. A fallen log blocked view of their tiny campfire from the base. Shadow had decided that they should sleep the night and arise right before dawn to sneak through the base.

"Tonight they'll be gathered around the cookfires and all through the base, but see if many of them get up before they have to. The streets will be sparsely populated tomorrow morning."

Sabin spent a worried night trying to sleep, and was awakened by Shadow in the false predawn light. They carefully made their way to the base's perimeter.

Sabin looked down a clear boulevard between white tents around the edge of some conveniently stacked crates, but his vision only reached so far through the dense morning fog. The invaders spread out even farther than the town's original boundary, as a short, make-shift bridge up ahead (the original had undoubtedly been destroyed), beyond two or three lines of tents, crossed a defensive trench that went around the town on three sides and was filled with water from the river. He steeled himself and was about to step out from behind the crates they crouched behind and begin making his way to the bridge when Shadow's gloved hand on his arm stopped him. He then heard the voices, and saw two border patrol guards walk into sight right in front of them, meeting. They stopped, looking up and down the street. The one who had come from their right spoke up to the other one.

"Hey, have you heard?" The first soldier asked.

"Oh, you mean about--" the other replied, loudly.

"Shhh! If Kefka catches us talking about this we're dogmeat." The soldier looked up and down the street again, and then said to the other, "They say Kefka's plotting to drive away Leo so he can take over his position as General in command of the invasion of Doma."

"Don't even joke about something like that! If that freak becomes our General, I'll quit!"

"Shhh!" the soldier said again. "What if he hears you?! You'll be jailed, if you're lucky!"

"All right, all right!" the other replied, exasperated.

Suddenly Sabin heard more footsteps.

"Oh, no. That's Kefka! Back to your post, quick--"

"Are you two keeping a sharp lookout? Hmm?" A man came out of the gloomy fog, and Sabin was surprised by his appearance. He was dressed in garish red General's robes, his hair perfectly coiffed with a red feather entwined in it. The man that instilled such fear into these two soldiers was a complete dandy! And yet from what Edgar had told him, Kefka Palazzo was an utter sadist, endlessly cruel. Sabin wanted to jump out and kill him for what he'd done to Figaro, but he'd only be set upon by the Imperial force and killed himself. He'd have to bide his time.

"Yes, sir! General Kefka, sir! What a pleasant surprise, sir! How are you today, sir?!" The first soldier said, he and his partner jumping to attention and saluting.

"Please, spare me your petty small talk!" Kefka said, condescendingly. "Just do your job, and don't let me catch you slacking, or you'll regret being born." Kefka smiled menacingly as he said this, and then turned and marched across the make-shift bridge leading further into the base.

As soon as Kefka was out of earshot and fading into the gloom, the two soldiers relaxed. "Yeah, like we're going to listen to you, you pompous little…" The second soldier muttered at Kefka's back.

"Shhh! Keep it down? How many times do I have to tell you?!" The first soldier muttered something deprecating, and then jumped as a form came striding out of the gloom from the direction Kefka had gone. He breathed a sigh of relief, then quickly snapped to attention with his comrade as the man was revealed to be a Captain, clad in officer's black instead of the two sentries' brown, his badge and lapels marking his rank. Another officer was at his back in unadorned black.

"You two!" He barked at them. "We're about to assault Doma Castle! You two will join the assault team. Assemble at the southwest edge of camp while I roust some more of you wretched dogs. Sergeant!" The Captain turned to the lower-ranking officer. "Get them up! All of them in this sector! On the double." He motioned to the two sentries who marched after him briskly as he walked back into the camp, lost in the fog. The Sergeant bawled into several tents nearby Sabin and Shadow's hiding place, and Sabin whistled softly as dozens of soldiers ran off into the fog.

"As bad as that is for Doma, it does help clear the way for us…" As the voices and commotion died down, leaving the tents ahead of them deserted, he and Shadow stepped out from behind the crates and cautiously moved towards the interior of the camp.

--

As the sun melted away the morning fog, it sparkled on the waters of the river wending its way southwest and under the northeast wall of Doma through thickly barred sluices under the surface, coming out again to the south. A trumpet blared on the plains, and the assault on Doma Castle began.

Twenty puffing privates in green leather heaved a huge siege ladder up against Doma's precipitous walls, the forbidding buttresses reaching to massive heights. They were mirrored by dozens of other parties all along the palisade. Soldiers scrambled up it, and then screamed as it was thrust down by the Domans above, and they fell, crunching on the hard packed earth. More screamed as hot oil fell from cauldrons on the walls down upon them, the would-be invaders.

The Captain looked on in frustration from his rally point on the crest of a hill just a little beyond a catapult's throw away from the walls, seated in a large throne-like chair. His lower officers surrounded him along with the Imperial clerks, hastily sending out command orders. If only we had the Magitek Armor, I could break these walls, he thought, angrily. But as fast as the ships were coming, the shipments of Magitek Armor from South Figaro through Nikeah were days away. The camp only had around a half a dozen Magitek units, not enough to risk here where they didn't have adequate support. The Doman catapults would destroy them long before they could breach this seemingly impregnable wall, yards thick.

He looked down at the gate, the only "weak" point in the entire fortress' defenses, if such a thing could be said. It was recessed back in the walls so archers could fire on invaders with arrows from arrow slits on either side. Dozens of soldiers rammed on it with a huge battering ram while around them dozens more of their fellows hacked at the thick wood with axes. The outer soldiers with axes were continuously cut down by arrows, but the core remained, battering away, every minute a solid bash shaking the large wooden gate as their hapless defenders were replaced from behind, hacking away with their axes to help weaken the gate as well.

The Captain felt bad about the slaughter, but it was the only strategy he could pursue. The siege ladders were simply to keep the rest of the Domans busy while they broke down the gate. He simply couldn't think of anything better, and the higher-ups wanted results. The cannon they had weren't enough to breach the walls, or even strike much inside; the only building that even stuck up over the walls was the inner keep, and then only its highest tower. They were too high. And so he sat and watched on as the bloody day wore on, and the gate slowly, ever so slowly, wore down.

--

"Damn. They're splintering again." The Doman corporal quickly braced the gate hinges with another board, pounding the spikes into the thick gate with a heavy hammer. Three others did likewise at his side, one up on a stepladder to reach the top left hinge. The short hall of the gate house behind them and courtyard beyond it were deserted, their fellows on the next floor up, raining arrows down on the enemy from either side or up on the walls doing likewise, or throwing down hot oil. The corporal wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt. "It's going to be a hot day." He jerked back as the door shook thunderously again. He quickly tamped one of the spikes in the board back down that had been dislodged, but it flew off with another jolt. He could barely scramble and grab it before the door shook again. It was starting to splinter all over now.

"It's hopeless!" He cried. "We can't keep them all out forever! This door isn't going to last much longer." He turned as he heard footsteps in the courtyard behind him, and a deep voice calling out. It was a sight he would never forget.

"Wait! The battle is not yet lost!" There, tramping towards him with a score of soldiers behind him, was the retainer to the king of Doma, general of the army, a man said to possess the strength of a hundred men, who did not fear death. He was dressed in his dark armor, full battle regalia, cape around his shoulders. The two sheathed blades at his left side swung as he marched, one long and the other much shorter, both curved, the chrysanthemum motif on the corrugated hilt and leather scabbards his family's crest. His black mustaches drooped in the heat under his aquiline nose, and the warrior's braid swinging behind him was glistening with sweat, both the sigils of an earlier time and out of fashion, his temples winged with grey, but the eyes in the lined, chiseled face were keen, his bearing upright.

Cyan Garamonde, here before him in the flesh. He saluted with his fellow corporals. Cyan returned it. Behind him the door boomed again, accompanied by a loud cracking. Cyan motioned them towards him, and they fell in with the twenty troops behind him. Cyan addressed them all. "If we can but fell their commander, they should break rank and withdraw. They see how many of them die trying to break through these walls. Without prodding, they will not continue." Cyan looked them all over, those piercing eyes and hawk's nose giving him a dangerous, regal look that sent a shiver up the young corporal's spine. Here was a man they could, no, would fight and die with without hesitation.

Cyan was silent a moment longer, the cracking gate behind groaning with the strain, and then he finally spoke. "I shall meet him in the field of battle."

With one accord twenty-four men drew their curved swords and spoke as one man. "We are with you!"

Cyan shook his head. "No. This is the chokepoint. THEE are the chokepoint. None of them can get beyond here." The soldiers looked as if they wished to argue, but were silent. He spoke with command. "Form four ranks of six. Thee four there, to the back row. Thou do not have proper armor on."

And so it was from the back row that the young corporal strained to watch over the armored shoulders of his fellows and around helmeted heads as the lone figure stood before the weakening gate, the long drawn sword held in front of him in both hands, feet apart and one foot forward. Doman warriors did not use shields; the distinctive curved sword was both defense and offense. Cyan stared at the door, hawk's eyes roving as the door cracked and splintered. After a long moment, he motioned behind him with one hand. "Two of thee, up here to lift the crossbar on my signal. I tire of waiting." The men laughed, sheathing their swords and running forward. They put their hands on the crossbar, awaiting Lord Garamonde's signal.

"When thee pull it, back up and draw thine swords." Cyan waited. The doors crashed again, and he waited a second longer, another few seconds, and then cried, "PULL!"

The Doman soldiers yanked the crossbar away from the door and stepped back behind Cyan, drawing their blades. The battering ram crashed into the doors and kept going, Cyan side-stepping as the steel point came flying in. The Imperials swinging it were all thrown forward onto their knees by the momentum, the unexpected lack of contact throwing them all off balance. Cyan stepped forward and swung his blade horizontally, neatly slicing off an Imperial's head. He raised the blade slightly, taking another step forward, slashing down diagonally across the next soldier's chest. Another followed, and another, one finally managing to draw his straight sword and bring it to bear on Cyan only to have it rebuffed and to be stabbed through the heart by a thrust of Cyan's blade. Cyan was lost to sight to the young corporal as he rushed out, hacking and slashing to either side, felling an Imperial with each blow, the view of his caped back blocked by the crush of Imperial soldiers trying to break through the passage. The corporal felt the crush as the men in front of him were pushed backwards, but they surged forwards again, out slightly into the forefront, the front rank spreading out to either side of the door and hacking away at the surging Imperial troops as the second rank moved up and blocked the door, arrows from above still whistling into the carnage. The young corporal prayed for Cyan's safety, but somehow he knew as he watched six men hold back the flood of Imperials that the day's battle would be Doma's.

--

The Captain was busy telling his First Lieutenant some commands at the exact moment the gate fell (to his mind), but as he looked back up and saw his soldiers' streaming towards the open doors, he smiled. The smile sloughed off his face as he watched a dozen Doman soldiers rebuff the flow of dozens of his troops. He was mildly disheartened, but he knew as he watched one Doman, and then finally a second, fall, eventually they would be worn down. The battle would be won in another hour, and with the king of Doma in hand they would cease their battle and all of Doma would finally be under Imperial control.

The Captain's eye was drawn to movement in the troops below him, first in those streaming towards the battle and then in the ranks where they were lined up awaiting deployment. It was a rippling, a line of confusion moving slowly towards him and his officers on the hilltop. He leaned forward in his chair, and as he heard shouting, he grasped the haft of the battle axe sitting against the side of his chair in his right hand, peering intently forward. As the rippling drew nearer he saw the flashing of steel and then the clanging of blade on blade. A few of the non-commissioned officers started shouting then, right below him, and a Sergeant right in front of him drew his sword, peering towards something that the Captain still could not see. He jumped up from his seat just as the Sergeant screamed, flying backwards, a huge gaping slash piercing his torso diagonally from his shoulder blade halfway down his trunk. The Captain's boots were splattered with blood as the man landed at his feet.

The Captain stared in shock at the figure now standing before him. Behind him stretched a long line of wounded troops, a gap in the ranks stretching down towards the battlefield, rapidly closing as the ranks of troops clambered over their dead and streamed up the hill. The figure before him—the blood-splattered armor. The crest on the sword. Those hawk's eyes. He knew who stood before him, and for the first time in a long time the Captain wanted to flee. He grasped his axe in both hands tightly before him, the curving half-moon blade balanced by a large spike glinting in the sun. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry.

The officers around him stared in shock at the apparition that had appeared amongst them. Finally one drew his blade and ran screaming at the man. He calmly parried the officer's sword and then slashed at his wrist. The officer fell, screaming, his severed hand flying through the air, and the curved sword thunked into his chest as he lay on the ground, blood streaming from his open wrist. He fell silent.

The troops, hundreds of them, were advancing up the hill behind the man who was surrounded by black-clad officers, swords out. Another officer, the Captain's own First Lieutenant, rushed at the hawk-eyed man's back, thrusting at him. What fools, the Captain thought, distantly, as if he were watching the scene from above. They don't know who this man is.

The man calmly whirled, sword in both hands, slashing horizontally, his legs going with and adding to his momentum, twisting around until he faced the opposite direction he had, crouching. His blade slashed through the First Lieutenant's waist and exited the other side in a crimson gout. The officer screamed in agony. He was bifurcated, cleanly. One half of him fell to the left, the other to the right, entrails splashing on the ground. The troops' advance halted as one. The Captain watched one trooper's eyes, a brown uniformed corporal, at the front follow the two bloody halves of the First Lieutenant as they smacked on the ground, and then glance at the grimacing face of a soldier's body beneath his feet, his throat slashed from side to side. He took a step back. Everyone else did as well, all the troops, all the officers surrounding this man. This lone man. Except for he, the Captain. He did not move. He was frozen.

The man's eyes roved over the faces of the officers, and then he turned back towards the Captain, looking straight into his soul with those piercing eyes of his. The man, the man of a dozen war stories, stories the Captain had been half-cynical of until now, after one man had broken through this massive force, spoke.

"I am Cyan Garamonde, retainer to the king of Doma. Ready they axe." The Captain did so, mechanically. He felt numb, distant, like he was someone else looking on at this scene. He looked into those eyes. They no longer seemed to pierce him; he didn't feel anything. Anything at all. He stepped forward and swung his axe.

--

The young corporal and his comrades watched the fleeing backs of dozens of troops, stumbling over the dead that lay before them. What had begun with cries from up on the hilltop where the officers gathered had snowballed into more and more troops turning tail and running. Finally, a trumpet had sounded general retreat. Soldiers surged away to the northeast, some final few falling to arrows in their backs. The young corporal pushed past a few of his fellow soldiers out into the foregate, hastily wiping at a gash on his cheek from a crossbow bolt. He stared out at the mass of retreating bodies, eyes narrowed against the blazing sun, and finally he laughed, whooping, as he espied a single lone figure coming towards the castle, slowly, like a rock in a stream parting the ranks of troops who gave him wide birth as they curved around him and kept running away towards their makeshift camp between Doma and the main headquarters of the Empire in this region, the town on the river. There they would stop and wait for further orders from the town, although the young corporal felt the Imperial officers would be hard-pressed to set the troops in motion again.

Lord Garamonde finally arrived, nodding to the troops who saluted him. "At ease, men." His armor was covered in dust and blood and his cape torn half to rags, but for all the weariness he surely felt he walked with a sure step. "Withdraw into the castle. Get the gates rebuilt post haste. Stack boulders behind them. We won't be coming back out for a long while. We shall wait within the castle's walls, while our enemies grow tired without." He then disappeared inside the fortress, and the young corporal quickly wiped tears from his eyes. He'd remember this day forever.

--

Sabin looked up and down the street again, and then stepped out, quickly dashing another ten yards before jumping behind a low wall, Shadow right behind him. He and Shadow had been working their way through the Imperial camp for an hour now, but it was slow going, avoiding the patrols that were still in effect in the all but empty camp. Sabin estimated nine-tenths of the troops were at the battle at Doma or in the temporary camp on the high road leading there, only a guard left here in the main camp. Sabin could tell they were about halfway through the camp at this point.

He was about to step out from behind the wall to make yet another dash for another hiding place, a pile of crates at the side of a large but decimated building's ruins, but Shadow stayed him. Suddenly Sabin heard voices, just down the street ahead of him. He and Shadow peered around the edge of a large hole in the wall.

"General Leo, sir." A young officer spoke to an imposing man in green general's robes and steel breastplate in the street. General Leo Christophe was a handsome but hard-looking man with his blonde hair cut short and flat on the top. A thick broadsword swung at his side, hilt inlaid with gold filigree. Sabin could tell he was thickly muscled, just as thickly as he himself was, but he was thinner than Sabin, his shoulders not as broad. He was taller, though.

"The Domans appear to be playing a waiting game, sir. The attack was rebuffed and they've all withdrawn back inside and shored the gate back up. I fear they will not be drawn back out again." The young officer, whose regalia marked him a major, looked disconcerted. "The Captain in charge of the attack has fallen…along with most of the other officers under his command. The retreat itself was called for by a warrant officer against the command of a second lieutenant, who was shortly thereafter trampled in the ensuing rush. I put the Warrant Officer under arrest for overstepping his bounds…but truthfully, sir, he probably made the right call. From his story this Cyan Garamonde was making mince meat of everyone around him, right in the midst of the army, and the Domans in the meantime were having a heyday with anyone trying to approach the gate. Those walls are too thick, sir, and too strong. They're going to wait it out in there, for a long time…" The Major fell silent.

Leo nodded, a thoughtful look on his face. "So, they're using their favorite strategy…"

The Major was silent a few moments longer, and then said, "Sir. We're ready to try and storm the castle again, at your command. I myself will lead the attack, under Colonel Sturgis' command from Battle HQ. Just give the order, sir…"

General Leo shook his head. "Patience! If we attack now, there will be too many casualties, there are too many as it is…we will give it to the Domans as they wish. The Emperor wants this done with as fast as possible, but unfortunately necessity makes it impossible. A month of siege will soften them."

"But…General! I'm willing to lay my life down for the Empire at any time!" The Major spoke with conviction, but Leo shook his head again.

"You're from Maranda, are you not?" Leo asked. Sabin recognized Maranda as being one of the three major provinces on the southern continent, under Imperial control for many years now.

"Huh?" The Major seemed confused. "I mean, yes, sir, I am, but…why do you ask, sir?"

"You would have me go there and deliver the news of your passing to your family? What would I say when I handed them your sword? How could I even look at them? You're a human being before you're a soldier. Don't be so eager to throw away your life. Emperor Gesthal wouldn't want you to die for nothing." Leo shook his head. "No. Siege it is." The General looked thoughtful for a moment, and then spoke again. "We will try this. It may sound inane, but it's worth a shot. I want you to have the troops start to spread thick, strong netting across the river two hundred yards upstream and downstream of Doma, across the whole river. Three walls of netting, twenty yards apart from each other, at both places. Pin it at the bottom to the river bed. We'll deprive them of fish that way. Put out fishing parties in boats in the quarantined zone. Their other stores will start to run low eventually. An army cannot fight a war only on water. We'll strike when the time is right."

The Major chuckled, and then saluted. "Yes, sir!"

A corporal came jogging up to them. "General Leo, sir!" he said briskly, saluting. "A carrier pigeon has just arrived from Emperor Gestahl." Leo took the proffered letter, examined the seal on the envelope, and then tore it open. He looked surprised, raising his eyebrows as he read and re-read the message. He grimly handed the letter back to the corporal.

"The Emperor summons me at once. I must return to Vector immediately." His voice held a tinge of disbelief. The other officers looked surprised as well. Leo shook his head, and then spoke to the Major with command. "I'll leave the rest in your hands…and my second in command. General Kefka." The two officers expression changed to a grimace. "Listen to me. Just don't rush things. Do you understand?" The Major nodded grimly.

Sabin spoke out of the side of his mouth to Shadow. "So that's General Leo Christophe. He may be my enemy, but he seems like a decent man." Suddenly Sabin's view through the hole was blocked by a wall of red cloth. Sabin held his breath, and became completely still. Someone was on the other side! The man spoke to himself quietly, sounding quite mad, and Sabin knew immediately who it was.

"Once Leo's gone I can turn this water into a flowing river of poison. Anyone who touches it will die a most terrible death. And then we'll see who laughs last." Kefka chuckled softly, and then the red in front of Sabin receded as Kefka walked towards Leo and the others, with his usual swagger, saber bobbing at his side.

Sabin stiffened. Kefka was going to commit another atrocity! But this time it would be far worse then the attack on his home had been. As horrible as the story Edgar had told him had been, that would be nothing in comparison to this. He'd have to stop this, somehow. Even if it cost him his life. But would Shadow aid him? The man was utterly amoral and didn't seem like the type that would stick his neck out, regardless of the amount of lives at stake. But if Sabin FORCED Shadow to fight by revealing himself…Sabin turned his attention back to the scene in front of him, gears already turning in his head.

Leo turned as Kefka walked up to him, flanked by half a dozen of the troopers under his command. Both looked rangy, and seemed to swagger almost as much as Kefka. Leo stared hard at all of them, and then at Kefka's warmly smiling face with the ice-cold eyes. "I'm afraid the Emperor has commanded I return to Vector immediately. I don't want anything done here in my absence that I would not approve of, Kefka. Or that would bring shame to the Empire. Do you understand me?"

Kefka's voice dripped with venom as he replied, still smiling. "I'll take care of things faster than you ever would, Leo. You'll be proud of my efficiency, at least."

"Nothing dirty, Kefka. They may be our enemies but they are still human beings!" Leo broke his hard, disapproving stare to glance as a large chocobo, arrayed in battle armor, was brought up to his elbow by a soldier.

"Now, now, Leo. We need not show any mercy to those who would rebel against our rule and side with the Returners…which is good because I never seem to have much of the stuff." One of Kefka's men snickered.

Leo glared at Kefka a moment longer, and then threw his leg in the stirrup and mounted the chocobo. He rode off towards the river to catch a returning ship to Vector, with a single backwards glance at Kefka.

"Yes, you go off and be a good little boy." Kefka's men laughed. He turned to one of them. "Is the poison ready?" he asked.

"We stacked the crates by the river side below camp, sir," The soldier replied.

"Wait!" interjected the Major, who had watched the goings-on with increasing alarm. Kefka turned to him, a scowl on his face. "Sir," the Major said, slowly, masking his disgust at addressing Kefka as his superior, "With all due respect, General Leo expressly said that--"

"Leo's gone. I'm in charge now, Major." Kefka turned away. Behind the wall, Sabin tensed. Shadow shook his head at him, but Sabin ignored it.

"But some of our people are prisoners in the castle! If any of them were to drink the water--"

Kefka shrugged, starting to walk away in the direction of the river. His men began to follow him. "Who cares?" he said, nonchalantly. "The Empire is better off without weaklings who surrender."

Sabin had had enough. Shadow lunged to grab him, but was too late. Sabin leaped out from behind the wall, planting his feet firmly in Kefka's way. Kefka and his men froze, looking agog, utterly speechless.

"You're inhuman, Kefka!" Sabin yelled.

Kefka's mouth hung open, but then he blinked and recovered himself, shaking his head. "Who the hell are you? How did you get here? What the--never mind. I have business to attend to." He waved to his men. "Arrest this man. I'll interrogate him later. Unless you feel like killing him in the meantime." His men surged past him, drawing their swords, running straight at Sabin.

Sabin smiled, and as the first reached him, reaching out with his left hand to grab Sabin's shoulder, Sabin quickly jabbed his fist into the soldier's throat. The soldier fell, gagging, and Sabin leaped at the next, who had skidded to a stop in startlement. Sabin's foot slammed into the side of his head and he went sprawling. As Sabin landed in front of the third, he pivoted on his right foot and roundhouse kicked him. A loud crack was heard as his boot connected with the soldier's neck, and the man fell, lifeless.

Sabin coolly finished spinning and stood still again, falling into a martial art stance, hands held up in front of him. The other three soldiers had stopped, but now spread out to flank him, swords held in both hands at the ready. They weren't going to take him prisoner. Sabin wasn't about to let them kill him, however. He feigned to leap to the left and then jumped right, slamming bodily into a soldier and sending him sprawling. He quickly dodged a chop of another's blade and dodged around him, smashing his forearm and elbow into the back of his head, felling him instantly. The other thrust at him, but Sabin smacked the blade aside on the flat and closed in on him, slamming his fist into the man's guts. Even though the man was wearing leather armor Sabin felt the ribs break, and the soldier fell to his knees, desperately gasping for breath, dropping his sword and curling up on the ground.

By this time the man Sabin had sent sprawling had recovered and quickly ran at him from behind, seeking to skewer Sabin through his spine. Sabin turned quickly and stepped aside, and then slammed his fist into the man's chest with all his might. He felt the man's chest cave inward before his knuckles, and the man fell, gagging, trying vainly to fill his ruined, collapsed lungs with air.

Sabin turned, facing Kefka, who seemed frozen, his eyes wide and his lips narrowed to nothing. Slowly Sabin began to walk toward him.

The Major had watched all of this in shock from the sidelines. The corporal at the Major's side grasped the hilt of his blade and began to walk forward, but the Major stayed him. "Stop. Just keep watching." He smiled grimly. "Mayhap Kefka's met his match, and a fine thing if he loses."

Kefka seemed paralyzed, uttering softly, "Took them down like a raging bull…" He shook his head, came out of his paralysis and raised his hand out in front of him, stiff and pointed straight at Sabin, sneering. "A fine show, but I've had enough for my money. I'll let the curtain fall on your charred corpse." An eerie glow suddenly surrounded him, outlining his frame.

Sabin tensed, pausing. Just like Terra, he thought. He's going to burn me up…but how exactly is that done…does he have to "aim", or…

Sabin bent his knees, getting ready to pounce, only ten feet away from Kefka now. Kefka's eyes focused on him, the sneer on his face turned to a gritted snarl, and time seemed to slow as Sabin felt the air around him start tingling, then heating, then BURNING…

Sabin leaped forward, and the space he had just been in suddenly burst into flame, as if the very air itself had combusted. He felt his clothes smoldering, smoke was coming off of his shoulders, but he was overall unharmed, and flying at Kefka, one leg stuck out in front of him. Sabin saw the look of utter surprise in Kefka's eyes as his foot slammed into his jaw, sending him sprawling backwards. Sabin landed on his back, but quickly spun himself on the ground, aiming another chopping kick down at Kefka's chest.

Kefka quickly rolled out of the way, narrowly avoiding the leg as it slammed into the dirt. Sabin jumped up, but quickly leaped backwards as a shining object clipped his nose, skinning the tip of it. He fell backwards, off balance, landing on his bottom.

As Kefka had rolled he had torn from within the folds of his robes a long flail, and had slashed upwards with it. He now quickly scrambled up, transferring it to his left hand, letting the small spiked ball rest in the dirt on the end of its chain as he grappled with his saber half hunched over, pulling it free of its scabbard.

Sabin stood up, rubbing his nose. He looked at his hand. Not too much blood. He transferred his gaze back to Kefka, who was standing slightly bent over, weapons in both hands, panting, looking at him warily with eyes that blazed with hate. Sabin had the feeling Kefka couldn't concentrate to cast another spell, or he'd be glowing by now, and Sabin would be forced to try and dodge again. Suddenly, he heard a multitude of shouts coming from all around him, and a clash of metal coming from behind the wall where Shadow sheltered. As he looked, a soldier's body fell out from behind it, impaled through the chest with a small dagger, a double-edged poniard made for stabbing. Shadow himself came vaulting over the wall, turning as he ran to throw two spinning objects towards the gap between it and the building, just in time for them to slam into another soldier's face. The small four pointed projectiles lay embedded in the still soldier's face as Shadow swiftly crossed the ground to Sabin.

"I should kill you," Shadow rasped flatly, though not unkindly, Sabin thought. Or hoped he thought.

"Nah. I think we'll need to work together to get out of this mess." More soldiers poured out into the square, not only from the wall's direction but from the east as well. Their drawn swords shined in the noon light. Another troop came from the west, running past Kefka, who smiled at Sabin as Sabin glared at him. Kefka sheathed his saber and waved.

"Have fun at the picnic," said Kefka insolently. He turned and began walking away through the camp, south.

"Kefka! Wait!" roared Sabin, but his path was blocked by a wall of soldiers, weapons out.

"Wait?" cried back Kefka over his shoulder. "Do I look like a waiter? This is a buffet, and all you can eat. Serve yourself!" He cackled at the inane joke and kept walking. The site of his crimson robe was quickly lost to Sabin's sight.

He and Shadow were now ringed completely by Imperial soldiers, swords at the ready. The few with halberds gripped them in both hands, ready to swing them to cleave flesh with the axe head or held to thrust with the spear point. He and Shadow faced out at them, back to back. Sabin tensed the muscles in his arms. This would be tough without anything to turn their weapons…Sabin spoke over his shoulder to Shadow. "Hey. Do you have anything I could borrow? I didn't bring any weapons."

Shadow, who himself had drawn two small daggers from somewhere about his person, now placed one through his belt long enough to draw something metal and heavy from a pocket and placed it in Sabin's hand silently. Sabin looked down. It was a set of metal knuckles, not brass, but of steel. He poked the fingers of his right hand through it and balled his fist. He smiled. "Now that is better. Let's go." The circle of soldiers quickly closed in on them.

--

Kefka walked quickly, as fast as he could without breaking into a jog. He had to get that poison into the river as quickly as possible, and not only because the Domans were eating their midday meal right about then, the perfect time for it. He walked past several lines of troops streaming towards where he had been, and the sound of a raid siren suddenly took up its wail in the distance. He quickened his pace even more. Who knew if Leo's ship had gotten out of earshot by now? If he heard the siren he would turn the ship around and return as quickly as possible. And Kefka surely couldn't let that bastard ruin his fun.

He passed a last few straggling tents along the river bank and stopped, his face breaking into a large smile at the sight before him. "Nothing can beat the sweet music of hundreds of voices screaming in unison," he chuckled. Not the sound of harp or lute. Nothing.

Kefka pried the lid off of the first crate, marked with a skull and various warnings in large red letters on the side, and dragged out the first bag of the good stuff. He tied a silk kerchief around his face and tore the top of the bag open, dumping the powder inside into the river. The poison was dyed bright red. He watched the purple cloud it made in the water spread downstream, towards the high walls of Doma. Beautiful, he thought. Simply beautiful.

--

Ten minutes later and a mile away, Cyan Garamonde stared out over the walls of Doma from the keep's forward balcony. The walls were sparsely populated: most of the soldiers were inside in their mess hall, eating. Only a small amount of sentries were out on watch, eating while standing and dipping ladles of water out of buckets that had just been brought up for their use. A sentry at Cyan's side, the very one who had had him summoned, pointed out at the Imperial base and the invasion camp this side of the bridge. Soldiers, mere specks, could be seen bustling and running, and a few suits of Magitek Armor were shining in the sun as they tromped.

"There, Lord Cyan. It looks like a lot of activity in the Imperial camp," said the sentry. "I think they may be preparing for another assault.

Cyan shook his head and blew out his moustaches, thinking. They couldn't be. He had no doubt they would try again, and another attack could come the same day, too, but it would take longer for them to regroup, longer to think up a new plan of action than this.

They stood silently for a minute or so, Cyan watching the Imperials while the sentry at his side fidgeted ever so slightly, waiting for him to say something. Only the sound of one of the sentinels coughing from over on the wall reached them. The man seemed to have something stuck in his throat.

Cyan's eyes seemed drawn to the river for some reason, and he noticed that the waters did not seem to sparkle in the noon sun as richly as they had only a small while before. They seemed murky of a sudden…

A gasping groan drew his attention back to the wall. The sentry who had been coughing was down on his knees, hunched over, his arms wrapped around himself, groaning. Cramps? His partner leaned over him, asking him what was wrong. Then he himself started coughing, gasping for breath. The man wiped a hand across his forehead. He was sweating profusely…

Lord Cyan spoke just as the man on the ground began a spine-tingling wail, grabbing the sentry's arm who stood beside him. The sentry, flabbergasted, couldn't understand what Lord Cyan had just said. "What, sir?! What is it?!"

The word ripped through his mind as Lord Cyan shouted again and the wailing sentry's cry was taken up by his partner, who had collapsed on his back next to him.

"POISON! THE DOGS HAVE POISONED THE RIVER! QUICKLY, WE MUST GET TO THE KING! WARN EVERYONE THEE SEE! WARN THE SURVIVORS! NOW, NOW, NOW!" With that Lord Cyan was off through the double doors, screaming, his voice mixing with more and more voices from the walls and buildings down below, a ceaseless screaming. "DO NOT DRINK FROM THE WATER! POISON! THE WELLS, THE RIVER HATH BEEN POISONED!" The sentry was at his heels, running down another corridor, shouting the same warning. But as the sound of wails and screams echoed down the halls ahead of him, his heart dropped.

--

Everywhere Cyan went was death. He passed screaming rooms on both sides, screaming his warnings, screaming help. He ran down stairwells echoing with the ghastly cries of the dying. A couple fell from a doorway right in front of him, the man holding the woman's head off of the floor as she coughed and gagged, finding enough air in her lungs to screech before coughing more. Cyan stopped for a moment. "Make her vomit! Stick thy fingers down her throat! Now!" The man nodded, panickedly gagging the woman. She turned on her side, vomiting. But as soon as the flow ceased she took up her cries again. Cyan shook his head as the man now began to cough himself, and ran on. He couldn't help them. He couldn't help any of them. He had to get to the King!

Finally he found himself in front of the great, ornate doors that led to the throne room, the dragon of Doma etched across their surface. The doors were slightly ajar, and all seemed dead silent within. Cyan ran to them, flinging them open, and stopped in horror.

The small table set up for the king and his court's luncheon was covered in tipped pitchers and cups, their murky contents spilled all over the table and floor. Two bodies were still seated, one sprawled halfway across the table, its grasping hands frozen in a claw, the tablecloth bunched up in their fingers. It was the chancellor. The other body leaned back in its chair, eyes half shut, head resting on its silk-covered shoulder. It was Queen Ursula in her court gown.

Next to her on the floor was her son, the only heir to the throne of Doma, young Lucas, fair young Lucas. His eyes were completely closed, and of all the bodies strewn about the sides of the table he alone looked somewhat at peace. Perhaps the poison had worked quickly on him, as he was smaller than a full-grown adult still…

And at the head of the table, Cyan found the man he'd been looking for, King Patrick Domasis. And he was still alive!

Cyan quickly knelt at his side. Patrick's eyes were half-closed and his breath was only a rasp, but he spoke when Cyan said his name. "Who's there…Lord Cyan? Cyan…Cyan, I cannot see your face…my sight fails me…"

Cyan shook his head. "Nay, your Excellency. Thou must fight! Hang on! Thou must!" Tears trickled down Cyan's graven cheeks. He had known Patrick for Patrick's entire life, had trained him when he was young. And now…

"Cyan…Cyan, you have defended this realm…since my father's reign...I thank you for your service…and release you…there is no throne left to protect…I have failed to protect the kingdom…and my family…"

"Nay, Lord!" Cyan interrupted. "It was no fault of thine!"

The King gasped a few more times, and then spoke again, this time in even more of a whispery rasp. "Go…go…I fear for your family…ooh…my chest burns…with every breath…go…quickly…"

"Save thy strength, do not speak!"

"Go, Cyan…go…go, now…now…" The King trailed off and fell silent. His chest stopped moving a moment later. Cyan sat still, as if made of stone, staring at the King's face, now still forever. Then he leaped up. His family! He had to find Elayne! Oswain!

He careened from the room, almost running into the sentry who had accompanied him from the rooftop. "Sir Cyan!" the sentry said, breathlessly. "The king…" Cyan shook his head, already pushing past the sentry.

"Quick, keep searching. There may still be some survivors…"

Down the nightmarish halls Cyan ran, now becoming far too quiet, a tense silence after the screaming that had punctuated the last several minutes. Finally, he came to his apartments…and felt his heart clench.

Elayne lay on the floor next to the table, her golden hair spread out in a halo around her head. Cyan dashed over to her prostrate form and lifted her upper body into his lap, crying out, "Elayne! Elayne, wake up! Wake up! Oh, no…please…please…don't leave me..." Cyan lifted his head to the bed they shared as husband and wife, and laying atop it…

"No," said Cyan, in disbelief. "Not Oswain too." His eyes were filled with the sight of his young son, like Lucas looking almost peacefully asleep…but it was a sleep he would not wake from. "I can't lose both of thee! Not like this…" Cyan sobbed, rocking back and forth with Elayne's body.

Several minutes passed, Cyan's wracked sobs filling the apartment. Finally, Cyan sat still, staring down into his wife's face through teary eyes. He felt the sadness and shock slowly draining away, revealing a deep, throbbing anger. Gently he stood and then stooped, picking Elyane's body up in both his arms. He lay her beside Oswain's still form, and shut her eyes with his hand. He lay a sheet over both their faces, and then spoke an oath at their feet.

"I will not rest, I will not cease, until the one responsible for this is slain. I cannot forgive the Empire for this. They wilt pay. This I swear, as last of the house of Garamonde…and last guardian of the throne of Doma." He turned, looking to the corner, where his battle armor was arrayed neatly, had been scrubbed clean after the battle that morning and polished, a burnished bronze color, though it was made of steel. His sword lay on pegs above the chest-plate. Cyan moved quickly, arraying it on his person. He left the cape—it was only a hindrance. This was not to be a battle—he would slaughter all Imperials who stood in his way.

As he strode forth from the apartments he met the lone sentry, coming from the soldier barracks. He had a stricken look on his face. "Lord Cyan…there are only a few who did not drink the poison. There may be one survivor of those who did, for he drank only a sip of the water, but he is deathly ill. Outside that, I have found only three other regular citizens who did not drink…there may be more, but…I haven't found them…"

Cyan nodded, and then spoke to the sentry gravely. "I would ask that thou bury my kin, but there are so many that will not be buried this day. I ask only that thou and those who can take the time bury the king and his family. Then help the survivors escape to safety. That is all. After that, I release thee from all vows to Doma. Flee before the Empire arrives to take this ghost city. "

The sentry plucked at Cyan's sleeve as he marched past him, talking quickly, "But Sir Cyan! Sir Cyan! Where are you going? My lord!" Cyan ignored his calls. He had one last reckoning with the Empire.

--

Blood gushed over Sabin's hand as his metal-weighted fist connected with the soldier's face. The soldier went down on his knees, screaming, and Sabin quickly bowled past him, followed immediately by Shadow. The pursuing mass of soldiers behind them did not falter in their stride, no matter how many of their number they saw fall to the thickly muscled man and the black-garbed figured that followed him like a picture of Death himself. They had been fighting like this for an hour, or maybe even more, ever since they had first broken out of the ring of soldiers, and the stress was starting to take its toll even on Sabin's highly trained body.

They rounded the corner of a building—and ran into another group of soldiers, numbering a dozen at least. The leader turned towards them and dashed at them, sword held out to thrust through Sabin's chest. Sabin got ready to dodge it and counterattack.

Suddenly a black, four-legged figure leaped onto the soldier in front of him from Sabin's left, growling and savaging the soldier's face. He fell, screaming. Sabin skidded to a halt, afraid he would have to deal with this wild beast—but at Shadow's hand signal the black animal left off attacking the soldier and ran to meet them. It was Interceptor! Sabin was relieved to see the mutt, but even with the dog's help, Sabin doubted they were going to get out of here alive. He was covered in small scratches and cut, and one pike tip had almost taken out his left eye. Shadow was strangely unscathed, however. Lucky, Sabin thought ruefully. Apparently an advantage to being so slim and agile…Sabin almost felt like cursing his own bulky frame now.

"Left!" hissed Shadow, and he, Sabin, and Interceptor broke out from between the two advancing parties of soldiers down an alleyway to their left, between the burnt out hulks of two buildings. At least they were approaching the bridge out of camp, now—a few more minutes and perhaps they could lose the soldiers cross-country. Sabin had a sickening feeling that Magitek Armor would be barring their way across the bridge, however. He'd heard them crashing about in that direction. He had no idea how they'd get past a blockade like that.

Up ahead, however, he seemed to hear the sound of metal on metal…sword on sword…as if someone else was fighting!

--

Cyan had found the Imperial forces' in-field headquarters nearly deserted. He had thought it strange, thinking of a trap, but had blown through it nonetheless. The few soldiers stationed there had either died by his blade or fled before him. To them the look of wrath on his face, combined with their memory of the battle that very morning, was more than enough to send them running for their lives. Cyan let them go, those who were fast enough to escape the edge of his curved sword. It was with the commanders he would meet soon enough.

General Leo, he thought. He is the one in charge…my impression of him those many years ago was of an honorable man, but I feel I must have been wrong…if it was he who authorized that massacre, I have no choice but to kill him. But I will do it gladly if it is so.

After that, he had come to the bridge across the river. No sentries, though at the far end waited a line of Magitek Armored troops, at least a half a dozen. The alarm siren in the camp was being sounded. So they are under attack then, thought Cyan. How fortunate, though I wish it had come sooner.

Cyan saw that the Magitek Armor were all facing in the other direction, towards the center of the Imperial base, and away from Doma. No doubt they consider Doma to be completely conquered, that there are no Domans left to fight them, thought Cyan. They will rue the day they made that mistake!

Cyan ran and leaped, catching hold of the ridged plates that made up the body one of the Magitek Armor. He climbed quickly, scaling the behemoth until he arrived at its cockpit. The cockpit's occupant was skewered from behind, Cyan's blade stabbing out from his chest in a crimson geyser. Cyan grunted, setting his feet, and lifted, dragging the soldier's corpse out of the cockpit and levering him up and over himself in an arc, to fall sprawling to the ground below. Cyan leaped off the Armor and kept running into the base, leaving the other Armor to lurch after him, the confused pilots caught off guard.

Cyan made it past one or two buildings, but soon ran straight into a large group of Imperials. He ran into the fray, screaming, "I am Cyan, retainer to the king of Doma! Fear, knaves!" He dodged a blow from one, and his counter-attack took the soldier through the throat. Suddenly, three were upon him, and he was hard-pressed to dodge or parry all three of their blades. He stabbed one in the thigh, causing the soldier to fall backwards to the ground, but the other two had gotten to either side of him, and Cyan was barely able to recover from parrying one blow to striking aside the other.

One of Cyan's attackers suddenly had his blade through Cyan's defense, up against Cyan's armor. The soldier grinned, preparing to thrust and end Cyan's life. He was sent sprawling by a flying kick from a strangely dressed man, and Cyan took the opportunity of his still standing opponent's surprise to cleave the soldier's head from his body.

Cyan turned, holding his sword up. Was this new person another foe? The man wasn't dressed like an Imperial soldier, that was certain, and he wasn't attacking Cyan. It seemed clear that the man had helped him, in fact.

Sabin took a moment to catch his breath. The man in front of him was clearly a Doman warrior. The years Sabin had spent in the palace library as a youth and the illustrations in the books came flooding back to him. Only Doman knights wore armor like that, and carried the two curved swords, one long and the other far shorter, not much more than a large dagger. And those mustaches! Such ridiculous mustaches could only be the object of pride for a Doman.

"Let me give you a hand, Doman. We're enemies of the Empire as well," Sabin gestured at Shadow, who had kicked the weapon of the soldier Sabin had kicked away from him and with another kick had knocked him unconscious. The one who Cyan had stabbed in the thigh had already limped away as quickly as he could, towards the advancing reinforcements. Sabin turned to face them, Cyan at his side.

"I know not thy name or allegiance, but I welcome thy aid," said Cyan as the first soldier arrived. Cyan side-stepped the soldier's thrust and slashed him across the back. He fell in a tumble of dust. "There will be no mercy for any of these curs!" yelled Cyan, wading in amongst the soldiers, hacking and slashing to either side.

Suicidal, thought Sabin. Sabin jumped forward as well, bowling over a soldier with a kick and then catching another's wrist to stop the downward slash of his blade. Sabin smashed the soldier across the jaw with his knuckled hand. "Look, I think we're going to have work together to do this without getting killed!" he said to Cyan, as the knight slew another soldier and paused to listen as Shadow parried another soldier's slash with both daggers and then thrust one high and one low, catching the soldier in the throat as he blocked Shadow's thrust at his guts.

"The thought occurred to me as well!" said Cyan. "Let us take them together!" He moved forward cautiously now, taking measured thrusts and parrying the blades of two of the remaining soldiers. Another two engaged Sabin, and three rushed at Shadow. Shadow dodged, falling back, and then ducked under one of the soldier's slashes. The soldier looked dumbfounded as Cyan's blade arced in from the side and took his head off. Cyan quickly put his blade back to work on the two soldiers facing him, pressing the attack now, and locking blades with one of the soldiers, thrust and pushed the soldier sprawling onto his back. The other soldier took a swing at him, but Cyan stepped in, dodging, and stabbed the soldier in the chest. The fallen soldier was attempting to stand when Sabin trod on his face, using the soldier as a springboard and bowling into both of his foes, bearing them to the ground. He quickly got to his knees and pummeled both of them into submission, pounding on each of their faces with one of his hands, splaying their noses across their faces.

One of the soldiers engaging Shadow turned to take advantage of Sabin's exposed back. This was his last mistake, as Shadow's thrown dagger took him in the back of the skull, and he fell lifelessly onto the soldier whose face Sabin had stepped on, bearing the soldier back to the ground with a loud "Oof!" Shadow's final foe was about to slash at Shadow, but screamed as Interceptor latched his jaw around the soldier's leg. The soldier was quickly dispatched as Shadow took his remaining dagger and slashed across the man's knuckles, causing him to howl in even greater pain as his sword dropped from nerveless fingers. The howl soon turned to a gurgle as Shadow slashed him across the throat.

The soldier on the ground finally managed to roll the dead soldier off of him and began to rise for the third time, only to meet the overwhelming force of Cyan's blade slamming into his torso. Cyan calmly put his boot to the soldier's chest and pushed him off his blade, and the man fell to the ground, grunting as he died.

Cyan wiped his blade on one of the fallen soldier's clothing and said to Sabin, "I am in thy debt."

Sabin shrugged, tying a rag around a nick on one of his arms. "No need for thanks. You did as much as either of us. I'm Sabin, from the kingdom of Figaro." Cyan's eyes narrowed, so Sabin quickly interjected, "The recently invaded kingdom of Figaro. We are no longer the Empire's allies, as we haven't been for a long time, except in name."

Cyan relaxed, and nodded. "I had heard as much. The king shared with me…before he died…that Edgar Figaro only paid lip service to Gestahl. It is good to hear that even that is no longer given!" Cyan looked up as shouts were carried to their position. "Do they never stop coming?" Cyan lifted his blade. "Where is the one that poisoned Doma? Was it Leo? I shan't rest until he is slain!"

Sabin stepped in front of Cyan, blocking his path. "Stop. It wasn't Leo, it was Kefka. You know him?"

Cyan nodded, grimly. "Yes, I know him. I heard he was a butcher, but this…I have to find him!"

Sabin shook his head. "We should get out of here."

"But I must avenge my family, my countryman--!"

"Kefka's gone. We won't catch him. If we stick around here any longer, we're going to have a whole regiment down our throats! We need to get across the bridge back towards Doma and go south." The shouts of the oncoming soldiers were louder now.

Cyan shook his head, resigned. "How can we escape? There seem to be so many of them…I came through half a dozen of those metal monstrosities on my way in here. I cannot fight so many of them with only a sword!"

Sabin paused, thinking, until Shadow walked over to him and pointed up the alleyway to three advancing, huge and shining, figures coming their way, some fifty yards off. Sabin smiled. "I have an idea."

--

"Where'd they go?" said the lead pilot, slamming his red-gloved fist against the side of the cockpit. He had his Magitek Armor come to a screeching halt, and the two other crimson uniformed pilots following him did likewise. He was up almost with the top of his helmeted head even with the rooftops of the one-story huts, and he leaned forward, looking down at the ground ahead of him, and each way down the alleyways to his right and left. "They were just here a minute ago. I was ready to smash them…"

A slight creak to the pilot's side caught his attention, as one of his compatriots shouted "Look out!" The lead pilot looked up and to his right just in time to see the leading end of Sabin's boot as it caught him in the face. The lead pilot jerked the control levers in front of him to the left, and the Armor hawed to the side, smashing into the crude hut and causing it to collapse. Sabin almost lost his balance and fell backwards, but he regained his footing and belted the soldier in the face, before grabbing hold of his leather jerkin and pulling him out of the seat and throwing him to the ground below.

Moments before, as the hut beneath him collapsed, Shadow had leaped from it onto another of the Magitek Armor, slashing at the pilot with a dagger. Cyan did likewise from the same building Sabin had leaped from, stabbing out with his sword to kill the pilot, and pulling his corpse out of the seat and tossing it aside before jumping in and grabbing ahold of the levers in front of him. He was at a loss at what to do. "Sir Sabin, how doth one manipulate one of these abominations?" he shouted, as he moved the levers back and forth quickly, causing the Armor to jerk and wobble, and the right arm to go through another hut wall.

Sabin looked at the sight in horror. "Oh, for the…Thou art really starting to get to be a great big pain in the—damn, I'm starting to talk like you! Just push the levers down to go forward!"

Cyan yanked the levers back and down, and yelled as the Armor began marching backward, stepping on some hapless Imperials that had just arrived at the intersection. "Sir Sabin, it seems to be in reverse!"

"FORWARD and down! Forward and—never mind, we'll follow you!" Sabin jumped into the seat and began turning the Armor, to follow the swath of destruction Cyan was creating. Already Cyan had sent a troop of soldier's reeling and fleeing for their lives, and smashed another hut's bracings, causing it to collapse in a cloud of dust. Shadow, too, gained the seat of the Armor he had leaped on, throwing the soldier's body to the ground, the soldier's face in tatters, and turned it, following after Sabin who squeezed his Armor by his in the narrow alley, yelling for Interceptor. The black dog scrambled after Shadow's Armor, and impossibly scrambled and jumped up the ridges and contraptions on the Armor's back to ride next to his master, swaying steadily with the Armor's movements.

Ahead, Cyan was still walking the Magitek Armor backwards. Sabin shouted over the clanking, "Cyan! Turn the levers to the right while still keepin them held down, and then once you're facing the way you want to go, let them go straight and push them forward!" Cyan did as Sabin said, walking backwards through a hut to do so, until he was facing towards the bridge over the river. Then he slammed the levers forward, finally walking facing frontwards, though he was still wobbling back and forth. "Sir Sabin, I think I am getting the hang of this!"

Sabin's machine caught up to Cyan, and Sabin marched it next to the left side of his Armor. "Alright, Cyan. Let's bust out of here!" Shadow came in at Cyan's right. Now they were marching in formation. Up ahead, the six Magitek Armor across the entrance to the bridge were moving, getting into position to fire at them.

"Quick, Cyan, give them a blast of ice!" cried Sabin.

"What? How?" Cyan cried back.

"THE BLUE BUTTON, JUST AIM YOURSELF AT THEM AND PRESS THE BLUE BUTTON!" yelled back Sabin. Cyan held his breath and pressed the blue toggle on the lever, flanked by a red and a yellow. The machine's cannon roared to life, and an artic blast of freezing energy flew out of it. Cyan's wobbly gait caused the beam to be spread all over the six opposing Magitek Armor, putting ice and frost all over their fronts. The Imperial pilots jerked their levers, attempting to move and dislodge the ice from their frames and the Armor's legs, but each screeching movement was only slight and was only causing the ice to crack slightly.

Cyan continued to press the blue button frantically, and then the others, but nothing happened. "Sir Sabin, this thing is not firing!"

"It has to recharge! Just keep charging at them! Shadow," yelled Sabin, "on my mark, give 'em a blast! Let's warm those suckers back up!"

Sabin screamed, "NOW!" and pressed the red toggle in front of him. A stream of flame emanated from his Armor, slamming into the Imperials with concussive force. Two of the machines exploded, and a third pilot leaped from his as it caught on fire. Shadow fired a fire beam as well, blowing up another Imperial's Armor, the force of which knocked another one over. The three surged forward, slamming into the wreckage, the one remaining pilot screaming as the wheeling mass of fiery metal converged.

Sabin was thrown forward from his seat, his Magitek Armor tipping forward and collapsing. He rolled, trying to get away from the flames. He looked back at the mess at the head of the bridge. Cyan was jerking his levers for all he was worth, his Armor still standing but with its legs stuck in the wreckage, the flames growing higher. Shadow's machine was leaning up against one of the buttresses of the bridge, one leg missing and the right arm's pincer stabbed into another Armor "Forget it Cyan! Come on!" Cyan dropped the levers and jumped out of the cockpit, quickly getting out of the flames. Shadow had already abandoned his Armor and he joined them, Interceptor loping at their side. The three looked past the rising flames and molten wreckage at a large mass of troops on the other side, cut off from them.

"They'll find a way around quick enough! Come on, we have to get out of here!" cried Sabin. The three set off on foot, quickly running across the bridge and through the small encampment on the other side, and then out into the open country. The three paused to get their breath after running for about ten minutes, stopping near a large boulder that had a small tree growing out from beside it. The encampment was still visible, as were the walls of Doma Castle off to the west.

"We should be safe for a moment, but we'll have to keep moving. The Imperials will be after us soon. They should have some chocobo to catch up to us on, and they also have the hunting dogs. Cyan, how can we get to Narshe from here?"

Cyan hoarsely said, "We can get to Mobliz on the Veldt through the forest to the south of here, but—"

"Fine, let's go. If we hurry we might be able to get there by nightfall."

"But, Sir Sabin, the forest, its—"

"Shadow, have Interceptor scout ahead for us. Come on, Cyan, let's go. The Imperials will be here any minute." Sabin and Shadow began running, following Interceptor's disappearing form. Cyan blew out his mustaches, flustered, shaking his head rapidly. "Sir Sabin, the forest—Sir Sabin, wait, I—" The knight ran after the two, suddenly feeling old. He was going in the opposite direction of his quarry, Kefka, but decided his vengeance would not be fulfilled if he were slain by lowly Imperial troops, with those war machines they had devised. It was just like them, to turn something honorable like hand-to-hand combat into a complete slaughter, using those hulking things.

But to go south, into that forest…the thought chilled Cyan's blood. Things worse than Magitek Armor were rumored to be there. If only Sabin would listen! He huffed and puffed, attempting to keep up with the other two. Soon the three figures were lost in the shimmering haze over the plain, heading towards the mountains to the south, and the forest in the valley between them.


End file.
